


Why Parvati Patil Must Die

by hull1984



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hull1984/pseuds/hull1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has to rescue Ron from the bottom of the lake.  Draco is not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Parvati Patil Must Die

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is awkward... apparently I started this in 2005 *cough*
> 
> The parts previously posted on livejournal have been heavily revised (and I mean _heavily_ revised) and I'm posting them here in the hopes that by the time I've got those nine parts up I will have finished the ~~tenth~~ twelve and final part (clearly hope springs eternal in my world, the poor deluded fool).
> 
> A cracktastic take on The Goblet of Fire and the Second Task in particular. Also known as the one with Pansy's journal.

Draco was trying his very best to look nonchalant (a little difficult from his current position on tippy toes). He craned his neck trying to see over the heads of the crowd. At least he was looking in the opposite direction to everyone else, surely that implied a certain amount of indifference.

Where the bloody hell was he?

Draco had fully expected to find the sad git sitting in the front row, straining at the leash to catch a glimpse of his “hero”. 

Pathetic.

Now that they had kissed (over your dead, mutilated body, Potter) and made up, he would have thought that Weasley would be right there front and centre, eagerly leading the cheers for the four-eyed bastard. 

So, where the fuck was he? Not that Draco gave a flying fuck, of course. Weasley could rot in hell for all he cared. 

Draco stood on a bench and tried to jump up and down inconspicuously. Thankfully, everyone else was so intent on events off to his right, that they scarcely noticed his presence at the back of the stand.

Bastards. How dare they not notice him. 

Oh, to hell with this.

Stepping down from the bench, Draco strode purposefully through the crowd, shoving aside anyone smaller than himself with a sneer, until finally he was standing on the grass. 

Right, where to now? 

He scowled in the direction of the biggest crowd. Fuck that. No way was he going to look interested in anything to do with Scarhead. Besides, Weasley wouldn‘t be there, students weren’t allowed that close to the competitors. Draco suddenly realised that he hadn’t seen the Mudblood either. If they were off doing anything mucky together he’d – he’d – well, he wouldn’t be happy. And, he’d fucking make sure no one else was either.

Suddenly, Draco noticed a cluster of Gryffindors standing around at the foot of one of the other stands. Longbottom was there and that Irish cretin, Finnigan. Maybe they knew where the Weasel was. 

Draco made his way quickly around the back of the stand and ducked under the benches. As he drew closer he began to make out what they were saying.

"– seen him. He wasn’t at breakfast." 

That was Longbottom. Did he mean Weasley?

"If he doesn’t hurry up, he’s going to miss the start."

One of those Patil chits, Draco never could remember which was which.

Just then, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan walked over to join the group.

"Hey, have you heard?" Jordan asked. "Cedric has to rescue Cho Chang." 

What was he talking about? Was that the next task? And why Chang?

"What about Harry? Is it Hermione? How romantic!" Lavender Brown sighed loudly. 

Draco rolled his eyes, stupid cow.

"I thought he liked Cho."

Longbottom this time, confused as usual. 

Draco was close enough now to peek out from behind the canvas folds.

"You’re both wrong." Dean Thomas panted as he came to a halt in front of the others. Leaning over, hands on knees, he tried to catch his breath. 

Come on, come on never mind breathing just fucking hurry up and tell us. Draco had a sudden feeling of foreboding. 

Thomas stood up straight. Staring for a moment at his friends’ expectant faces he let out a nervous giggle. 

"It’s – er – Ron."

Oh, that was just great! It was always the fucking same. Every year Potter dragged _his_ Weasel into some sort of mortal danger. Draco swore he was going to crucify that four-eyed bastard for this.

"Bloody hell."

"You’re joking." 

"I don’t get it."

The twins were frowning at each other, probably worried for their brother (and possibly a little concerned as to why it was Ron that Harry would be rescuing).

Jordan’s reassuring voice cut into Draco’s thoughts. "Well, come on guys, it makes sense. They are best friends."

The two Weasley boys sighed and nodded in agreement. 

Two feet behind them Draco frowned. There was something about this that was making his teeth itch. 

"Yeah but –" Finnigan glanced almost apologetically at the twins. "Well, it’s just that Cedric has to rescue Cho and Krum Hermione –"

"No! Oh, how romantic!"

"Oh, shut up, Lavender!" The Irish boy threw her a withering look. “I mean –" and again he glanced almost sheepishly at the Weasleys, as if he wasn’t sure how they would feel about his next words. "If everyone has to rescue someone they _fancy_ – well –"

WHAT?

Several minutes of awkward silence followed.

"Who has Fleur got to rescue?" 

Draco had no idea who had said it but he could have kissed them (well, unless it was Longbottom in which case he would settle for a handshake). Yeah, who did the French tart have to rescue? Oh, please let it be Hagrid, let it be Hagrid.

There was a moment when everyone just looked at everyone else and then Finnigan ran off toward the distant crowd.

The twins stared at the floor. Longbottom looked over at Thomas who shrugged one shoulder before sitting down on the grass. Patil and Brown shuffled closer to each other giggling and whispering in that annoying way girls did. And Jordan stuck his hands in his pockets, looked up at the sky and began to whistle quietly. 

Draco turned his attention to more important matters – practising the killing curse on a snail he’d spotted crawling up the side of the stand (in his mind’s eye it wore round glasses and had a lightening scar on its forehead). 

Shortly, Finnigan came back, out of breath but grinning. Of course, this being Finnigan that grin could mean anything, so no one heaved a sigh of relief just yet. And frankly some people (surrounded by a growing number of non-moving molluscs) began to feel decidedly ill. Never trust a grinning Gryffindor (especially an Irish one).

"Her little sister," Finnigan gasped out. 

Weasley One (buggered if Draco could tell one from the other) punched Weasley Two in the arm grinning. "Never doubted him for a minute," he said with a wink. 

Longbottom and Thomas just shook their heads smiling happily.

Patil and Brown on the other hand looked decidedly disappointed.

Finnigan frowned and looked behind the twins. "Um, did anyone else hear a crunching noise?" He asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

"I must have imagined it." Finnigan shrugged. 

Draco was doing a victory dance (massacring a few more snails in the process). Ha, screw you, Potter! He knew the Weasel would have better taste than to choose that ugly little squirt.

"You know, that really doesn’t mean anything," Patil said, looking really rather pleased with herself, she winked and grinned at Brown.

The boys turned as one and glared at her. 

"And exactly what is that supposed to mean?" Weasley One spat.

Draco, in mid skip, nearly fell over as he realised that the ginger prat had spoken his own exact thoughts. Patil would die for this. It was bad enough she was implying an unhealthy relationship between _his_ Weasel and that mutant, but to add insult to injury, she was now also making Draco think like a Weasley. Really, death was too good for her. 

"Well," the dark haired girl continued, "Fleur is a foreign student. Maybe she doesn’t have a romantic interest here. Perhaps she has a boyfriend back at home."

A thoughtful silence followed.

Again, Finnigan frowned and looked towards the stand behind them. "Did anyone else hear a thud?”

Everyone shrugged.

Draco was banging his head against a post. Oh, yes, come the revolution and Patil would be the first up against the wall.

"Wait! What about Roger Davies?" Longbottom blurted out.

Six pairs of hope filled eyes turned his way; two pairs glared. 

"Fleur went to the Yule ball with him." 

Brown looked to Patil in desperation. Her friend looked momentarily nonplussed and then a slow smile spread across her face. "That," she said smugly, "was _one_ date. I heard this was what they would miss _most_."

There was a silent pause. Then Finnigan looked up triumphantly. "Ah, but Krum only had _one_ date with Hermione. So, your theory is a load of bollocks!"

Weasley Two reached over and patted the Irishman on the shoulder. "Nice one, Seamus."

Draco grinned; he really might have to amend his opinion of that nice Irish chap.

Brown and Patil exchanged pitying looks. 

"Are you honestly comparing Viktor Krum’s love life with that of Fleur Delacour?" Brown asked shaking her head sadly.

The boys exchanged worried glances. 

Merlin, she had a point.

"So," Longbottom was the first to recover. "Ron is what Harry would miss most?" He spoke very slowly and very carefully.

"Oh, how romantic!" 

"I swear to God, Lav, if you don’t shut up I’ll –" Finnigan paused, "Did anyone else hear a… growl?"

They all shook their heads. 

Shaking his own head, Finnigan continued with a frown. "So, Harry has to rescue Ron from the bottom of the lake, within the next hour, or risk losing what he would miss the most?" 

Exchanging worried glances, the twins suddenly seemed to realise that perhaps there was more at stake here than their little brother’s reputation. Weasley Two turned to the others and asked anxiously, "Where’s Harry now?"

Several people took a sudden intense interest in the floor; clearly no one wanted to meet the brothers’ fearful stares.

Finally, Longbottom looked up nervously. "No one’s seen him."

"Fuck!" The Weasleys responded together and without any further words set off at a run, Lee Jordan following not far behind.

Thomas shared a swift, concerned look with Finnigan and then headed after them.

Brown and Patil looked on the brink of tears, probably regretting their earlier teasing now. 

And so they bloody should, Draco thought furiously. Oh Merlin, Draco felt like he was going to vomit. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. 

_Dumbledore wouldn’t allow any real danger to befall anyone._

It was the unspoken commandment at the school, the unspoken decree, infallible. Draco found himself clinging to that now. 

"Dumbledore wouldn’t –” Brown didn’t finish the sentence. She grabbed hold of Patil’s hand and they both ran towards the growing crowd at the edge of the lake.

________________________________________________________________

Pansy strolled towards the lake. Frankly, she didn’t understand what all the fuss was about – Triwizard Tournament – big deal. Now what the school really needed was a fashion show. A few hunky male models, throw in a few bottles of glistening body oil and some skimpy swimwear…

Just then, she spotted Crabbe and Goyle and hurried over to find out the latest news on the Second Task. It would really cheer Draco up if Potter managed to get himself mangled up a bit this time. 

"Pansy!" Goyle grinned. "Have you heard? Potter's got an hour to rescue Weasley from the bottom of the lake or his best mate’s squid meat." He turned to exchange a grin with Crabbe. "And the useless prat hasn’t even turned up yet!"

Crabbe joined in with his laughter.

"Buggery hell, where’s Draco?" Pansy asked appalled.

"Probably off celebrating. Or –" Goyle turned to nudge his friend in the stomach, "maybe he’s off somewhere sitting on – wait for it – Potter!" 

Crabbe snorted loudly. "Ah, good one, Greg! D’you get it, Pansy? Potter! Draco’s sitting on Potter to make sure he can’t rescue Weasley. Ha ha, good one!"

Pansy shook her head and rolled her eyes. These two really shouldn’t be allowed out alone. Just then, a ripple of excitement ran through the waiting crowd. Pansy strained to see over those in front. 

It was Potter. He’d finally arrived.

________________________________________________________________

Seamus had slumped onto the grass and now sat with his head in his hands, Neville was leaning against the stand. Neither of them felt inclined to watch the other competitors. 

Where was Harry?

Neville spoke first. "He will turn up, won’t he, Seamus?" 

The Irish boy looked up at his worried friend. He knew Neville needed reassurance but how could he give it when Seamus needed it too, perhaps even more than Neville? A noise behind them distracted them both.

"I am not going mad, that was definitely a thump." Seamus jumped up and ducked behind the canopy. 

"Bloody hell!"

Filled with trepidation at the sound of a clearly shocked Seamus, Neville took a deep breath and followed him.

"Blimey!"

________________________________________________________________

Pansy frantically pushed her way through the crowds of students. She had to find Draco quickly before he did something silly. The crowds thinned out and she finally made it to the last stand. Shit, where was he? Maybe he’d gone back to his room. Pansy had just turned and begun to walk away when she heard raised voices coming from behind the canvas canopy.

"What are we going to do with him now?"

"Buggered if I know." 

Pansy frowned. Irish? Finnigan?

"You’ll fucking release me that’s what you’ll do, you buck toothed imbecile."

Well, it seemed that Pansy had found the little darling after all. 

Pansy lifted the edge of the canopy and walked inside. The sight that greeted her was something of a surprise and not without its amusing aspects. The corners of her mouth twitched.

Draco was flat on his back on the floor, obviously trapped in a full Body Bind (well, _nearly_ full). Finnigan and Longbottom were standing about three feet away, wands clutched tightly in their hands, looking frantically from Draco to each other. Pansy suspected that they were beginning to regret not binding Draco’s mouth too. 

Clearly a woman’s touch was required. 

"Ahem, am I interrupting something boys?" 

The two Gryffindors spun around at the sound of her voice but before they could respond an angry voice cut in. 

"You will get me out of this NOW!" Draco was glaring from her to the terrified Gryffindors, struggling ineffectually to release himself from the spell. "Then, I can kill these two bastards before hunting down Potter and dismembering him inch by inch. Oh, but before that, of course, I have to go down to the lake to watch them bring Weasley’s lifeless – " his voice choked on a sob " – body to the surface." 

And to everyone’s utter horror Draco started to cry.

Pansy got out her wand and waved it at the stricken boy with a roll of her eyes. Draco was such a drama queen.

Realising that the demented Slytherin was now free of the Bind, Longbottom and Finnigan quickly took refuge behind Pansy, wands raised in shaking hands. 

Ah, the famous Gryffindor bravery. Pansy shook her head and ignoring Draco who was now pacing anxiously back and forth, sniffling and mumbling under his breath, she turned to the boys cowering behind her.

"What happened?" She asked, although she had a pretty good idea.

The duo exchanged nervous glances and then Longbottom looked at Pansy and said, "Well, we found him back here and he seemed a bit er – overwrought."

Finnigan threw him an exasperated look and blurted out, "He was acting like a fucking maniac is what he was doing." He paused as if thinking about what he’d just said. "Well, _more_ of a fucking maniac than usual."

They all turned to look at Draco. He was continuing his frantic pacing and mumbling continuously, the occasional word emerging (“bastard” and “mutilate” being a couple of the more memorable ones). Finnigan and Longbottom drew a little further behind Pansy, wands gripped tighter.

"We had to put the Body Bind on him to stop him from jumping in the lake," Longbottom explained. "And er –" he went on hesitatingly "– um – we also think that he might – er – well – erm –"

"We think he fancies Ron!" Finnigan blurted with a nervous twitch of his eye. 

"Right." 

When Pansy seemed neither surprised nor appalled, the two boys stared wide-eyed at each other. 

Sighing and shaking her head, Pansy walked over to her distraught friend.

"Draco, dear,” she said softly, trying to get his attention. “Look at me." 

But Draco continued to pace. As he walked past, Pansy reached out and grabbed an ear.

"Aah!" Draco yelped as he tried to twist out of her hold. But Pansy was stronger than she looked and had also had a lot of practise at this (Slytherin boys were notoriously lax when it came to giving her due care and attention).

"Now, Draco, you are going to stand still and listen to what I have to say." She leaned in close to speak into the abused ear. "Do I make myself clear?" And Pansy gave it an extra tug for emphasis.

Draco could only nod in response, wincing at the added strain this put on his rapidly reddening lobe. Pansy released him and placed her hands on her hips. Draco rubbed at his ear, glaring at her. Pansy knew that look well (clearly his earlier distress had been forgotten in favour of plotting her grisly demise).

"So, care to explain yourself?" She asked, smiling sweetly at the furious boy. 

But her words seemed to remind him of why he was in such a state and Draco’s eyes widened in horror. 

"Potter – Ron – lake,” he stuttered out. “Shit. And stupid bastard Scarhead isn’t even here. And – and – in an hour –“ 

Draco’s voice gave out and he brushed his hands through his hair in total despair.

Pansy winced. Oh, fuck. It was worse than she thought – Draco had just willingly messed up his hair. This was about to get very nasty.

Slowly, she reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. "There now, Draco. It’ll be okay." 

Draco looked up, tears in his eyes and then with a loud sob, threw himself into her arms. 

Oh hell, very, very nasty indeed. 

She rolled her eyes at the stunned Gryffindors still cowering in the corner. They were watching the whole scene in obvious fascination and not a little horror; as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing and hearing. 

Pansy was patting Draco’s head now and making soothing noises. Suddenly, the sobbing boy looked up. Staring desperately into her eyes he blurted out, "And exactly why is Ron the thing he would miss most?" Then, Draco let out another sob and buried his face into her increasingly sodden shoulder. 

Shaking her head, Pansy patted him on the head. "There, there, poor darling." Merlin, she was going to dine out on this for years. 

"Listen to me, Draco." And she lifted his head to look at her. Pansy winced again (fuck, if any boy ever reduced her to the pathetic, soggy sight in front of her she’d have to kill him). She brushed the blond fringe out of Draco’s still leaking eyes. "Draco sweetie, it’s going to be okay. Potter has turned up." 

Draco’s eyes lit up with anger and he tried to move from her arms. "I’ll – I’ll –"

Pansy pulled him back by his hair. "You’ll do nothing of the sort, otherwise your precious Weasel will die horribly and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?" 

She patted his head again. "No, I think it best that we let Potter get on with rescuing the ginger bas– darling. And it looks like he might actually pull it off. Seems he’s discovered a way to breathe under water. So he’ll rescue his – er _your_ little angel and everything will be fine. Oh, yes, and Ron will look all wet and dishevelled," she lifted Draco’s head again, “you’ll like that, won’t you?" 

Draco nodded his head, a dreamy, watery smile on his face. Pansy fought the urge to slap him.

Turning to Longbottom and Finnigan, she scowled in disgust at their matching looks of pure horror. "Oh, come on, surely you’ve seen someone in love before?" 

Oh, this was fun. Longbottom looked like he was going to faint, while Finnigan – well that was interesting – looked lost and a little jealous; seems dear Draco might have a rival. Excellent. It would do the arrogant little snot good to have to work for something for a change. 

"Right, help me get him back to the Slytherin common room,” Pansy ordered. “I don’t think it will do him any good to stay down here for the next hour."

But before either boy could make any response, Draco pulled away from her. Running the back of his hands across his eyes, he took a deep breath and said, "No, I’m – I’m fine now. I want to stay. I have to know he’s okay." Then, drawing himself up to his full height, Draco nodded at each of them. "Thank you," he said and walked swiftly out from under the canopy. 

The two remaining boys and Pansy exchanged a quick look of understanding and followed him. 

________________________________________________________________

Draco had somehow managed to keep it together for the past fifty minutes or so. 

Pansy kept throwing him concerned looks, ready to restrain him by any means necessary if he looked likely to throw himself into the water. She noticed that Longbottom and Finnigan had been casting equally concerned glances his way.

When Cedric’s head had emerged from the water earlier, she’d held her breath with everyone else, amazed to find she was hoping, maybe even praying, that it would be Potter. Draco had borne it remarkably well, although if she was Diggory she wouldn’t chance being alone with the blond any time soon. 

As Krum and Hermione had surfaced, she’d reached out a protective arm to her best friend. Draco had turned and looked at her with wild, tortured eyes but had stood his ground. Pansy had never loved him more.

________________________________________________________________

It was now long past the allotted hour and the crowd was growing increasingly restive, eyes drawn ever more in Dumbledore’s direction. The silver haired headmaster sat, unperturbed, wearing his usual air of mild amusement.

So it was okay then. Dumbledore wasn’t worried so they shouldn’t be. 

The minutes ticked by. Draco was standing as close to the water’s edge as he dared, eyes trained on the ground at his feet. 

A ripple on the surface of the water – the watching crowd strained to see – false alarm.

Draco bit his lip and clenched his fists. I’ve got to get through this. He will be okay. He has to be okay. Please let him be okay.

A sudden gasp from the watching crowd. 

A cheer, low at first but growing rapidly as it spread.

Draco finally looked up.

And there he was. 

Looking wet and dishevelled. 

And Pansy was right.

Draco _did_ like it.

Before Pansy could react Draco was gone. 

________________________________________________________________

The first Ron knew about it – the first anyone knew about it – was when Malfoy crashed into him, sending them both splashing back into the cold water.

When the redhead resurfaced a few seconds later it was with a blond Slytherin attached to his lips.

It received a mixed reception.

"Oops…" Pansy whispered and slunk back up to the castle.


	2. Really, How Bad Could It Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron reflects on recent events and comes to the unhappy conclusion that being the centre of attention definitely has its drawbacks.

Okay, so one minute he was dripping wet, water sucking at his clothes, slowly making his way to the shore. The next thing Ron knew he was back in the water, with a weight on his chest and pressure on his mouth. Then, he was pulled up and wouldn’t you know it – there he was _again_ dripping wet with water sucking at his clothes. 

Only this time there was something different. Quite an important ‘different’ actually. Ron seemed to have acquired an extra pair of lips. Reaching out tentative hands he noted that these extra lips appeared to belong to a body as equally soggy as his own. Ron snatched his hands back quickly, scared of what he might touch if he continued his investigation. At this stage, ignorance was most definitely bliss.

Well, this was certainly an interesting development.

Ron’s life was nothing, if not eventful.

He vaguely considered opening his eyes. Then, thought better of it. It was much easier to deny his own existence, the existence of the person that was currently attempting to suck Ron’s lungs out via his mouth, and the existence of the many no doubt gawking spectators, if Ron kept his eyes tightly shut. He squeezed them a bit tighter just to make sure that nothing slipped past the closed lids. 

No, on the whole Ron thought it best if he kept them well and truly shut for now. He was pretty sure if he was in any real danger – if it was a Dementor, for example – then someone would have mentioned it. And, Ron was also sure, that if it had been one of those joy-sucking bastards then he probably wouldn’t have felt quite as cheerful as he did. And there was no denying that Ron was definitely feeling fairly buoyant. 

After all, the salient point to take from this situation was that Ron was being snogged. And frankly a snog was a snog. Ron had no delusions. He was quick to recognise what could quite possibly be his one chance for a little tongue on tongue action. So, when his mystery assailant bit lightly on Ron’s bottom lip before running their warm tongue eagerly over it, Ron gave a mental shrug and opened his mouth.

As his attacker continued to thoroughly investigate every inch of his mouth, Ron took time to first enjoy the moment (Merlin, that felt good) and then, to consider their possible identity. 

Could it be Hermione? Perhaps, seeing Ron in mortal danger had finally made her realise how much she really loved him? 

Yeah, right! She was much more likely to be off somewhere doing this to Viktor Krum. 

Hey, maybe it was Fleur. That would be brilliant. 

Right, and as about as likely as Draco Malfoy turning out to be straight. 

Still, whoever it was, they certainly knew what they were doing.

And on that happy note Ron came to a major decision.

Bugger it, he thought, he had to find out eventually – and really how bad could it be? 

Ron opened his eyes.

________________________________________________________________

He woke up a short time later in the Hospital Wing.

Apparently, it could be VERY, VERY bad…

Hermione was sitting in the chair next to his bed. She didn’t look happy. 

Ron smiled; it was nice to know that she cared enough to rush to his bedside.

As the minutes passed and Hermione continued to scowl at him, the smile slipped from his lips. Ron took in her folded arms and narrow-eyed glare and shifted uncomfortably under the bed covers. Oh. 

“Hi, Hermione,” he said plastering on another hopeful smile.

She didn’t reply but her eyes did get narrower. 

Ron suppressed a groan; there was a very good chance that he was in for a long, painful lecture.

Several minutes passed until finally unable to stand the uncomfortable silence any longer Ron asked, “Hermione, what exactly happened out there?” 

Hermione drew herself up and looked like she was about to spit out something sarcastic (Ron was familiar with the look).

“Please,” he said quickly in the hope of heading off a tirade. “I have no idea how I got here or how I was injured.” And he reached his hand up to the bandage on his head, trying to look as pitiful as possible. 

Hermione didn’t reply straight away. She was breathing heavily through her nose and still frowning. Ron was just beginning to think he’d be lucky to get out of this alive, when she suddenly seemed to relent. Sighing loudly she uncrossed her arms and slumped back into her chair.

“It was ridiculous really,” she finally said huffily. “I don’t know why all the boys at this school have to make such a drama out of everything.”

Ron felt that was a little unfair. The last boy to ‘make a drama’ out of something had been Harry and in his defence he was being chased by a fire-breathing dragon at the time. But Ron wasn’t feeling brave enough to point that out to Hermione, so he kept quiet.

“What _do_ you remember?” she asked giving him a shrewd look.

Well, this was bloody awkward. No way was Ron admitting to participation of any kind. And the whole issue of who did what to who should probably be avoided too. All in all, total denial seemed like the way to go.

“Well,” he said slowly. “I remember helping Harry to rescue Fleur’s little sister (Hermione’s roll of the eyes let him know that his lame attempt to garner sympathy had bombed spectacularly) and I vaguely recall dragging myself out of the water,” he paused noting the glint in Hermione’s eyes. They were about to get to the interesting part and it was dawning on Ron that the next few seconds were make or break time (he just really hoped it wouldn’t be him doing the breaking).

In life there comes a time when a boy must stand up for what is right, to be steadfast, brave and true. 

This was not that time.

“After that it’s a complete blank,” he said hurriedly and huddled down under the blankets (this was most definitely the time for lies, subterfuge and stunning cowardice). 

Hermione was giving him that look again, the one that said she didn’t believe him for a second and was very much looking forward to tearing up the tissue of lies he was currently trying to sell (Ron was definitely _very_ familiar with _that_ look).

“So,” Hermione said with a cynical curl of her lip. “You’re telling me that you don’t remember being accosted as you emerged from the water?” Before Ron could respond she continued, “Or crashing back into the water?”

“Well–” Ron started to say but was cut off.

“Oh, and I suppose you can’t recall snogging the face off your attacker either?” Hermione had built up a fine head of steam by now and Ron had started to look around for Madam Pomfrey; it would be such a shame if Hermione undid all the medi-witch’s efforts by throttling Ron where he lay.

While Ron panicked and looked for help, Hermione carried on talking, describing how _nearly_ (she’d thrown Ron a very nasty look at that point) everyone had reacted with horror at the sudden turn of events, but on recognising who it was that had attacked Ron (not to mention their chosen method of attack) they had all been too shocked to react. 

Ron barely heard her over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. It was worse than he ever could have imagined, hearing it told in cold, stark words. Ron felt sick. And it wasn’t because the memory horrified him, wasn’t because he felt humiliated or violated. Oh no, tears had sprung to his eyes, his stomach lurching and threatening to have him heaving all over the bedclothes because he couldn’t forget how _good_ it had felt. Or how something bright and warm had burst inside him when he’d opened his eyes and seen Malfoy. And now he felt sick because he knew that he couldn’t tell anyone any of that. Ever.

“Finally –” Hermione’s voice broke into Ron’s chaotic thoughts and he forced himself to listen, swallowing down his panic. “You came to your senses and pushed the demented git away. And promptly fainted.”

Ron supposed he should be embarrassed by that, but well, there were so many things to be embarrassed about in all of this, that fainting would just have to take a number and get in line.

Hermione had paused and when Ron looked up she was watching him intently. “You know,” she said slowly. “Everyone panicked when you fell back into the water, half convinced that Malfoy had murdered you, especially when the water turned red.”

Death by snog – how novel. Ron bit his lip to keep from giggling. There was a good chance he was a little hysterical by this point. Hermione’s next words soon sobered him though.

“That was one of the worst moments of my life,” Hermione’s voice was barely a whisper and she had lowered her eyes. When she looked back up at Ron they both blushed and then looked hastily away before she brusquely continued. 

“Fred and George were the first into the water, followed by several Gryffindors and lastly Snape, who seemed in no particular rush to get to you.”

Ron snorted at that; it figured. Greasy git had probably wanted to make sure the Ferret had enough time to finish the job.

“Fred reached Malfoy first and started screaming at him that he’d killed you. Then he and George dived under the water and pulled you out. It looked like you’d hit your head on a rock when you fell, hence all the blood.”

Hermione paused again here. “You did look awful you know," she said a moment later growing visibly paler at the memory. "Everyone really thought you were dead. Then Snape finally arrived. He checked you over and then declared, in a clearly disappointed voice, that you were alive. He placed an automotive spell on you and led you up here."

Ron took a few moments to consider what she’d said and then asked, "And what about Malfoy? What was he doing while all this was going on?"

"Well, that was the strange thing." Hermione hesitated, a perplexed look on her face.

"What?" Ron asked worriedly.

"Malfoy." Hermione pinned Ron with an intense look. "Well, wouldn’t you have expected him to sneer, or laugh, or at least try to deny it?" She asked.

Ron nodded. Wasn’t that what the Slytherin git had done, then?

"But he just stood there, looking paler than I’ve ever seen him." Hermione paused again and scowled suspiciously at Ron. "In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was in shock." She narrowed her eyes and scowled deeper.

"What are you looking at me for?" Ron yelped indignantly. "How do I know why the daft git was acting so weird?"

Then he had a sudden inspiration. "Hey! Maybe he was under Imperius and had just come out of it. He was probably appalled when he realised it was me he’d kissed."

It was a clear indication of Ron’s own inability to deal with this whole incident that he would much rather believe that the Slytherin bastard had been in shock at the thought that he’d kissed Ron rather than the fact that he might have killed him. 

Hermione snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Yeah right, and what’s your excuse!"

Ron chose to rise above it and ignore it. 

"No," she continued shaking her head slowly. "You didn’t see his face when they pulled you out." And, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully, Hermione glanced at the white screen that surrounded the bed next to Ron’s.

Ron had noticed the screen when he’d woken up, but hadn’t really thought much about it, assuming it was surrounding some poor kid who’d swallowed the wrong potion or hexed himself in Charms. Turning to look at the screen now, a sudden suspicion darted into Ron’s head.

"Hermione," he asked warily. "Exactly where is Malfoy now?" 

Hermione didn’t reply but she did nod at the screen.

Ron was horrified. "You mean –?" He started to say loudly but then suddenly remembering who was in the next bed, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "You mean he’s been right there all this time?"

Hermione nodded again.

"What!" Ron tried to keep his voice low, but it was difficult; quiet and restrained did not come easily to Ron. "So he’s heard our entire conversation?" He felt himself turn beetroot red from the navel up.

"So what, Ron." Hermione had gone back to sounding scathing. "It’s not as if any of this is news to him. He was there after all; or have you forgotten who it was you were snogging?"

Ron felt himself turn even redder and whispered frantically, "Please, Hermione, keep your voice down."

She snorted in response and then continued, "It’s okay, he can’t hear you. He’s been _sedated_." Hermione rolled her eyes at that and mumbled, “Bloody drama queen” under her breath.

Ron frowned, "But why was he sedated?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and hit him with a look that screamed ‘you tell me’.

And, for some reason, Ron felt a sudden surge of guilt. Which was so unfair. After all, all Ron had done was nearly drown – been rescued – nearly drowned again – been rescued again – been snogged – nearly drowned again – been rescued again – been put to bed.

Why should he feel guilty? 

Taking a deep breath, and trying to sound calm he asked, "Please, Hermione tell me why he –" and Ron cocked his head at the next bed "was sedated."

Still looking less than pleased Hermione told him. Told him how Malfoy had been so hysterical at the sight of Ron’s seemingly lifeless and blood-soaked body that he had had to be restrained and then sedated by Dumbledore.

"Oh." It was spoken in a very small voice. Ron wished he hadn’t asked.

“So, Ronald,” Hermione straightened in her chair and tightened her arms across her chest, almost as if she was struggling with the urge to reach out and strangle him. “Now would you care to share with me why it took you three minutes and thirty seconds to push that pointy-faced bastard off you?”

Ron was a bit shocked by her language (and more than a little worried about her apparent tendency to carry stopwatches about her person) but he was even more concerned by his own inability to come up with a plausible answer to her question.

“Shock?” He said uncertainly.

Ron suspected it wasn’t quite the answer Hermione had been looking for when she let out a strangled cry, grabbed the nearest thing – which unfortunately turned out to be her chair – and threw it across the room. Ron was good at picking up on these little nuances; sometimes he thought he might have a sixth sense for them.

Hermione then proceeded to scream, "Fine! I hope you and Malfoy will both be very happy!" And marched from the room. 

Yes, Ron was definitely sensing hostility. 

________________________________________________________________

It had been sometime since Hermione’s abrupt departure and Ron was sitting alone casting furtive glances at the screen and flinching every time he heard a movement from the other bed. 

This was not good. Not good at all.

Just then a bustle of activity over by the door distracted him. Madam Pomfrey was heading a strange procession towards the bed opposite to his own. A dripping body hung in the air behind her, followed by a scowling Snape.

Ron could just make out what the greasy git was mumbling under his breath, "Better things to do with my time than to levitate stupid Gryffindors around the place. If I’d wanted a balloon I would have gone to Hogsmeade and bought one." 

By this time the body had been dropped unceremoniously onto the bed and the irate professor strode out of the ward still muttering to himself. 

Madam Pomfrey was waving her wand over the boy in the bed and saying a drying charm when Ron finally recognised who it was. He sat up straighter trying to get a better look.

When the medi-witch had finished with the incantation and had settled the new arrival under the covers Ron spoke up. "Madam Pomfrey,” he asked. “What’s wrong with Harry?"

She turned to Ron and smiled. "No need to be concerned, Mr Weasley, he’s just suffering from a mild case of hypothermia. Some Pepper-up tonic when he wakes and he’ll be fine."

Ron frowned. "But what happened? How did he get hypothermia?" The lake had been fairly cold but not enough to land anyone in hospital (well, not unless you’d been sexually assaulted by a rabid Slytherin).

"Ah, well that was a little unfortunate." Madam Pomfrey blushed as she spoke. "It seems that when the incident between yourself and Mr Malfoy first occurred, Mr Potter had been, um, somewhat taken aback and had fainted. Sadly, no one noticed." She hung her head, looking ashamed and Ron wondered for a moment exactly what the medi-witch herself had been doing at the time. 

"Apparently, Mr Potter had then floated out towards the middle of the lake. The mer people came across him and kindly towed him back to shore, leaving him on the bank. Professor Snape found him there when he went back down to the lake to check for stragglers." 

And, with that, she walked into her office leaving Ron to consider her words.

So, he’d finally done it. Ron had finally succeeded in eclipsing Harry with something that he had done. 

He lay down and placed his head under his pillow.

But why, why, why did it have to involve Malfoy, tongues and a bloody audience of hundreds?


	3. An Interesting Chapter in Dumbledore's Memoirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has an enlightening conversation with Pansy Parkinson, while Dumbledore seduces Madam Pomfrey to the Dark Side.

Draco Malfoy hated Ron Weasley. 

He really did. 

Okay, he accepted that certain recent events may have left some elements of society (the entire school, most of the population of the mer village and perhaps the giant squid) unconvinced about this. But at least _he_ was sure. 

Yes, Draco definitely, _definitely_ hated Ron Weasley. 

Really.

Oh, bugger it all.

Because, of course, he didn’t. 

At all. 

Bloody adorable bastard.

See? It was those sort of stupid thoughts that had landed Draco in his present predicament. 

He thumped his head back down onto the inadequate hospital pillow. Stupid bloody infirmary bed. He glared over at the depressingly empty jug on the bedside cabinet. Useless bloody Pomfrey. He clearly needed more water but the incompetent excuse for a medi-witch was off somewhere and failing to provide even the most basic care. Gross dereliction of duty is what it was.

Draco swallowed slowly and grimaced. His mouth tasted foul. As if some of the snails that he had murdered earlier in the day had come back to haunt his mouth, leaving little snot trails across his tongue. What a lovely thought; now Draco really wanted to vomit. And if those stupid molluscs had revenge issues they should take it up with Potter. It wasn’t Draco’s bloody fault that The Boy Who Makes Me Hurl resembled a slimy, slow-moving, gastropod.

But, really, what had been in that awful potion that silly, old bat had made him swallow?

Madam Pomfrey had been languishing in the lower echelons of Draco’s Death List for the last few years. She had failed miserably on several occasions to treat Draco with the respect that befitted a Malfoy (and had called him a big sissy more than once). She had been particularly dismissive last year, when that deranged hippogriff had attempted to claw off Draco’s arm and had moved up several places on The List as a result.

But today the woman had out done herself. Oh yes, today she had earned herself a place in his top five.

The potion itself Draco probably could have stomached. Okay, bollocks to that. What’s the point of being a Malfoy if you have to ‘stomach’ anything? No, he would have whined, bitched and moaned about that alone but the fact that the stench from the bloody thing had chased away the last remnants of Weasley’s scent was really beyond the pale.

When you added in the fact that the vile bloody taste had then robbed – robbed I tell you! – the taste of Weasley on his tongue, well Pomfrey was just sitting up and begging for disembowelment; especially as Draco had a sneaking, wee suspicion that the Weasel wouldn’t be volunteering to replace the taste anytime soon (every time he closed his eyes Draco could still see the look of horror in the shocked boy’s eyes).

But the thing that had really clinched Pomfrey’s brutal demise was the manner in which she had dispensed said hideous potion. 

For the loathsome, old hag had actually had the temerity to be nice to him.

Well, Draco wasn’t fucking putting up with that.

She’d even gone so far as to stroke Draco’s cheek and call him her “poor boy”!

The gall of the woman. And exactly what the fuck did she mean by it?

The fact that tears had pricked (in a most unfortunate fashion) at the back of his eyelids as she’d said it, Draco rather deftly managed to ignore (along with his total failure to tell her to ‘sod off’).

How dare she be sympathetic to him. 

Reconsidering the incident, Draco mentally scratched out her name at number four and moved her up to number two.

“Poor boy” indeed!

________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, Pansy Parkinson was having a rather enlightening conversation with Hermione Granger (much to the surprise of both).

Hermione had needed answers. So, as was her fashion, she had carefully considered the best place to gather information regarding Draco Malfoy. Well, the answer was obvious. What Hermione hadn’t expected was the other girl’s willingness to share that information.

"Look, Granger, I won’t lie to you. Draco’s recent little stunt has rendered keeping certain confidences moot at best. Truth is the sad, silly boy has something of a huge crush on your boy. What can I tell you? The stupid git has been positively swooning for Weasley these last three years."

And then, not for the first time that day, Pansy had cause to mumble, "Oops."

______________________________________________________________ 

He’d leave. 

Yes, that’s it. 

Draco would tell his father that he wanted a transfer to Durmstrang. He’d say he was so sick of Dumbledore’s atrocious bias to Gryffindor and sickening goody goody approach to everything that he needed to leave before the saccharine made all of Draco’s teeth fall out. 

The smug, satisfied smile on Draco’s face lasted approximately thirty seconds. Then, he let out a loud sob and placed his head in his hands because, of course, his father would already know. Some underhand, conniving bastard (probably one of Draco’s close friends) would have already owled Lucius with the wonderful news that his big poofter of a son had sexually assaulted another boy in front of the entire school. Draco knew this for certain because if the tables had been reversed that’s exactly what he would have done. 

Draco hoped it had been Crabbe or Goyle. It would be nice to know that it was at least one of his _best_ friends who had totally destroyed his existence. 

A glimmer of hope spluttered to life. Draco really did hope it had been one of those two dolts. They were just stupid enough to have missed the significance of _who_ he had assaulted. There was a slim chance that _they_ may have failed to mention that the boy in question had been a Weasley. 

If it had been Pansy on the other hand, well, all hope was lost; Draco’s gravestone would have been ordered and his mother would have already spoken to the caterers regarding canapés at the wake. 

Dear Pansy – and where the fuck was that silly bint? 

She should have been here to visit him by now. Draco could have faded away from shame and grief and Pansy hadn’t even bothered to come and say goodbye. He might have slipped off into the great unknown without a single thought from anyone. 

Forgotten. 

Alone. 

_Sniff_

________________________________________________________________

Dumbledore stood in Madam Pomfrey’s office as she gave him the latest report on the two fourth year students.

"Mr Weasley’s head wound is healing nicely and I don’t think there will be any lasting damage," she paused and sighed, " _physically_ speaking. But I would like to keep him here one more night for observation; just to make sure that he suffered no concussion."

The headmaster nodded slowly as she spoke.

"As for young Mr Malfoy," and again Poppy paused to shake her head sadly. "I can think of no reason to keep him here longer –" Seeming to catch herself, she coughed and continued. "That is to say, he is completely recovered from his – er – little episode and can return to his dormitory."

"And how is he really, Poppy?"

She shook her head again and sighed. "Well, you know Mr Malfoy, headmaster. He’s trying his best, bless him, to be an insufferable little tit but I can tell his heart’s just not in it." She raised her head to look directly at the old wizard. "He’s hurting, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded sadly in response. "All things considered, I think it would be best if Draco remained here, at least until tomorrow; give him time to gather his thoughts."

He smiled at the obvious look of relief that passed across the medi-witch’s face at his words. Aah, Poppy, people saw her as a rather brusque, surly figure but in truth she was just a big softie. Dumbledore knew that she cared for each and every person in the school (well, with the possible exception of Filch, who he was sure one day she’d bludgeon to death with a bedpan).

On that last thought, Dumbledore flicked his wand at the picture on the far wall of a group of dogs playing cards (compassionate she may have been, but Poppy really did have appalling taste in art), muttered an incantation under his breath, and fished out a bag of sherbet lemons from inside his robes.

No, all in all, Dumbledore was confident that dear Poppy encapsulated perfectly that feeling of compassion and caring that he tried to impress on all within his sphere; that feeling of understanding and caring that he himself had always nurtured.

Sighing contentedly, Dumbledore relaxed into the squashy armchair that had appeared just in time to catch his reclining body. Adjusting his spectacles, he took in the scene before him of two somewhat tense teenage boys, glanced down at the bag in his hand long enough to retrieve a sweet, and then, turned to Madam Pomfrey with a smile.

"A cup of tea would be lovely, Poppy."

Yes, indeed, Dumbledore liked to think that he was someone who empathised with his fellows, sympathised with their trials and tribulations as it were. And he encouraged others to do the same; to reach out a hand to help, not sit idly back and watch…

"Headmaster!"

Dumbledore was suddenly pulled from his reverie. Pausing, he looked up with raised eyebrows.

Madam Pomfrey’s mouth was stretched into a thin line. "Surely, Headmaster,” she said curtly. “You do not intend to intrude on the privacy of Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, actually yes,” he said. “I had intended to do just that. After all, how will I be able to take notes otherwise?" And with a flourish, a quill and parchment appeared in front of him.

"Professor!"

Dumbledore could tell from her tone that Poppy wasn’t happy with him. But for the life of him he couldn’t see why.

"Poppy, you seem a little upset."

The medi-witch snorted loudly. "I should think I am! Professor Dumbledore, you cannot be proposing to sit and take notes on what those two poor, traumatised boys are going to do next." 

Dumbledore looked at the quill and parchment floating before him, glanced at the boys, and then back to Madam Pomfrey. "Well, yes that was pretty much exactly what I intended to do. I would have thought it quite obvious." 

For a moment, it looked like Madam Pomfrey might well use the bedpan (hitherto reserved for Filch) on the grey haired old man in front of her, but seeming to rally her patience, she took a deep breath and through slightly gritted teeth asked, "But don’t you think that that might be an invasion of their privacy, Headmaster?"

The old wizard smiled in relief. Oh, was that all.

"Most assuredly, Poppy,” Dumbledore replied with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “But it will make a rather interesting chapter in my memoirs, don’t you think? Now do sit down." And with a flick of his wrist another armchair appeared next to his. "And where’s that tea?"

With an exasperated sigh, Madam Pomfrey gave up trying and settled into the chair, "One lump or two?" she asked resignedly. 

________________________________________________________________

Which by a remarkable coincidence…

Hermione scowled darkly at the other girl and rubbed the back of her head in a very marked manner.

Pansy sniggered and shrugged, "No pun intended."

Earlier, after she had helped the bushy-haired Gryffindor up off the floor, Pansy had suggested a trip to the kitchens where privacy and a cup of tea could be had. When they’d arrived Dobby had immediately pushed his way through the throng of other obsequious house-elves anxious to help. 

When he’d caught sight of Hermione he had stepped back in awe. Bowing so low that his pointy nose almost touched the ground, Dobby had straightened, turned to his fellow house-elves and declared loudly, "Her-moaney!"

A mortified Hermione had immediately responded with a brusque, "I am NOT!" 

But Dobby had been adamant. "Yes! Yes, you are! I’ve seen you - you’re Harry Potter’s Wheezy’s Her-moaney!" 

Closing her eyes Hermione had eventually worked her way through his words and had replied with an affronted. "I am not Wheezy’s – er – I mean, Ron’s Hermione. I’m – I’m – well, I’m _my_ Hermione. I do not need validation from a boy!"

(Dobby thought perhaps Her-moaney needed validation from a shrimp - he was pretty sure that’s what humans called people who checked their heads - but she was a friend of the great Harry Potter and his Wheezy so he supposed he should be polite).

A short while later, Pansy and Hermione had found themselves in a relatively secluded area of the kitchen with a pot of tea, two cups and a plate of cream cakes in front of them. Dobby had walked away shaking his head sadly. Hermione was pretty sure she had heard him mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "Wheezy could do a lot better…" and she began to feel that perhaps Ron and Harry’s view on House-elf rights may have been the way to go after all.

Hermione shrugged as she responded to Pansy’s question. "I think perhaps three lumps might be in order. I have had rather a lot of nasty shocks today."

Pansy nodded in sympathy and dropped the cubes of sugar into the cup with a loud plop.

________________________________________________________________

Draco glanced over at the white screen. 

_He_ was behind there. 

Draco could hear him breathing. There was a faint rustle of bed clothes, followed by a soft sigh. 

Aaaah!

This was driving Draco nuts. When were they going to let him leave? Did they have any idea what he was going through? To know Weasley was that close; wondering what he was thinking. Did he know Draco was lying in the next bed? Was he plotting ways to murder Draco in his sleep? Did Weasley hate him more than he did yesterday? Was that even possible?

Bastards.

This was absolute torture. 

Why didn’t they just let Draco leave?

And then Draco thought about that and what leaving would actually mean - returning to his dormitory; past the sniggers and whispers. To face the looks of derision and hate; to find out which of his friends now despised him. Draco’s face burned with shame and he closed his eyes in the vain hope that it would make the images fade.

Another sigh drifted past the screen, a cough. _His_ cough. 

And suddenly the fear of having Weasley so close, that tight ball of nausea in Draco’s stomach, slipped away. This was where Draco wanted to be, away from everyone else, close to him.

Draco didn’t even realise that he was smiling as his eyes drifted closed.

And opened again about fifteen minutes later when a herd of elephants rampaged through the ward. 

Okay, so it was actually only that stupid bloody woman back again. But Voldemort, it might just as well have been a troop of pachyderms. 

Draco scowled over at Madam Pomfrey as she bent to pick up whatever had fallen from the bag she was carrying. He shook his head. It looked like a set of hand bells, cymbals and a pair of maracas – didn’t know the old hag was in a band. Draco’s eyes began to close again.

"Ow!"

This time he sat up. 

Rubbing the top of his head, Draco glared at Madam Pomfrey. She was now standing next to his bed clutching a large bottle of Pepper-Up tonic in her hands. Draco had a strong suspicion that she had just tried to brain him with it.

"What the fuck are you playing at woman?" He shouted.

"Language, Mr Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. Then, smiling at him she said more softly. "I am sorry, dear. I seem to have caught you slightly as I reached for the bottle."

Draco was livid, "Slightly! You nearly took my bloody head off!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, don’t exaggerate, Mr Malfoy. It was merely a tap."

Draco’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. 

Tap! He’d hate to see her take a swing if that was a bloody _tap_. 

Draco began to feel a growing respect for the witch (together with a determination not to get on her bad side any time soon).

"Right, now that you’re awake, would you like a cup of tea?" 

It was on the tip of Draco’s tongue to tell the old girl to bugger off but then he noticed that she still had the bottle in her hand and a certain glint in her eye.

"Um, that would be lovely, thank you," he said nervously.

With a wave of her wand, Madam Pomfrey conjured a steaming cup of tea onto Draco’s bedside cabinet. 

"Drink it while it’s hot," she commanded then turned and left.

Draco was relieved and extremely thankful to see her and the bottle leave. 

Hidden bloody depths that one. 

Right, that was it.

Tonight he would re-write _The List_ once and for all; with a certain grey-haired old lady firmly ensconced at number one. 

And this time Draco was bloody well going to _laminate_ it.

________________________________________________________________

"Well done, Poppy! I knew you could do it."

Professor Dumbledore beamed at the medi-witch as she walked back into her office.

"The musical instruments were an inspiration!"

"Yes, well you didn’t exactly give me much choice." Madam Pomfrey frowned, remembering the way the old wizard had pushed her into the ward with an abrupt, "Wake the silly sod up! I’m not here to take notes on the sleep patterns of adolescent boys!"

Suppressing her desire to wallop the old git she continued. "I know from past experience that Mr Malfoy sleeps like the dead; I knew it would take something quite spectacular to wake the boy. As it was, he still started to slip off again. In the end I had to practically pummel the dozy, little tyke with a bottle."

She shook her head sadly. "He probably now sees me as a bottle wielding member of a mariachi band!"

Madam Pomfrey sank back into her armchair with a disconsolate sigh, "I don’t mind being seen as homicidal, Headmaster, but really - _mariachi?_ "

"Oh don’t worry, Poppy, by the time Mr Malfoy has his tongue firmly ensconced down Mr Weasley’s throat again, all your little foibles will have been completely forgotten."

Madam Pomfrey was torn between horror and well… something else entirely. In the end, she decided to pretend she hadn’t heard.

"Would anyone care for a cold drink?" She asked, wiping her brow as nonchalantly as she could manage, while trying to ignore the headmaster’s knowing smirk and suggestive wiggle of the eyebrows. 

"And just _what_ is going on here?"

Dumbledore nearly fell off his chair. 

Oh Bugger.


	4. Dumbledore, Pitchforks and Red Hot Pokers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy makes Hermione an interesting offer.

"Ah, Minerva, how nice of you to join us. Come, pull up a chair. Poppy was just about to make some more tea."

"Oh I am, am I? Tea! Oh, yes, Headmaster, don’t mind me, Headmaster! Here am I, several dozen diplomas in the art of healing and it‘s – “can you put the kettle on please, Poppy?” “Pass me a cream bun please, Poppy.” Countless years spent studying, sacrificing a social life, the chance for romance, children and all for what… so I can make Albus St.bloody Dumbledore afternoon bloody tea!"

Dumbledore was hurt. It had only been _one_ pot of tea and he hadn't insisted on the cream bun, he'd have been just as happy with a biscuit.

"I think perhaps she’s not, Headmaster." Professor McGonagall sent the medi-witch a sympathetic look (sometimes, usually alone in bed at night, Minerva would indulge in a little fantasy or two involving Dumbledore, pitchforks and red hot pokers. Perhaps she should get together with Poppy and share some of the more colourful scenarios).

"Now, Albus, would you care to explain exactly where you have been for the past couple of hours?" Minerva scowled at the old man. "It may have escaped your notice but we have had one or two incidents that required your attention." 

She was barely keeping a hold on her temper. The day had been trying to say the least. Who would have thought that the Triwizard Tournament would prove to be a mere backdrop to the real drama of what was already referred to the whole school wide as ‘The Malfoy/Weasley Snogathon’? 

Minerva had been immersed for the previous two hours in a variety of tasks, ranging from breaking up fights between the Weasley twins and anyone foolish enough to use the words “snog”, “Malfoy” and “Weasley” within their hearing; preventing Rita Skeeta from turning it into her latest sensational headline; closing down the owlery so students couldn’t leak the news outside the school and trying to calm both foreign delegations, who had decided to take the whole incident as a personal affront to their dignities. And where had the headmaster been while all this was going on? Well, if current evidence was to be believed – sitting sipping tea while spying on his pupils.

________________________________________________________________

Dumbledore knew he was in deep guano. Few things truly troubled the old wizard. He had dealt with many horrors throughout his event-filled life. He had faced giants and trolls; stared down basilisks; Voldemort held no fear for him; it had even been said that Dumbledore would laugh in Death’s face when the day came. But a pissed off Minerva McGonagall was another thing entirely. 

Dumbledore took a deep breath, placed what he hoped was a disarming smile on his face and prepared to deliver the argument for the defence (while somewhere deep down inside a voice cried out for his mummy).

________________________________________________________________

"I don’t believe you."

"Well, Granger this may come as a great shock but I actually don’t care if you believe me or not." Pansy shrugged at the other girl. "You asked me a question and I, very graciously I may add, gave you an answer. I even had the good grace to help you up off the floor afterward and make you tea."

Hermione frowned. "Dobby made the tea, you merely poured it because you are a control freak and therefore always have to be mother. And, helping me up was the least you could do seeing as you were the reason I ended up on the floor in the first place." She crossed her arms, a stubborn look firmly fixed on her face. "And I still don’t believe you." 

A wicked glint appeared in the Slytherin girl’s eyes. "Ah, denial is a terrible thing."

The other girl glared back, her lips a thin pink line. 

"Still, it must have come as a bit of a shock, realising you had competition from the boys." Pansy said slyly.

Hermione couldn’t ignore that. "What do you mean _boys?_ "

Pansy grinned, Granger was so easy. 

"Well, Draco, obviously, then, there’s young Finnigan…"

"Seamus!" The bushy-haired girl was sitting up straight now. "What’s Seamus got to do with any of this?"

"Oh, didn’t you know? He fancies your Ron too."

Granger was obviously getting used to such shocks as she actually managed to retain her seat this time.

"Bollocks!" 

Apparently it was Pansy’s turn to hit the floor.

________________________________________________________________

Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"So let me get this straight." She pinned the headmaster with a severe look. "You, the revered headmaster of this illustrious school, Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin, First Class, respected by thousands of parents who have placed their trust in you to guard the health and well-being of each and every child within your care, have been spying on two young, impressionable boys who very recently experienced an emotionally traumatic event in front of the entire school, purely in the hope of gleaning some juicy titbits for your memoirs."

Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his chair. "Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad…"

The Transfiguration teacher took a step towards him but somehow managed to restrain herself from actually kicking the old goat. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly, then opening them, asked in a barely controlled voice. "Please answer the question; have you or have you not been spying on these two unfortunate boys?"

The old wizard bowed his head. "Yes, ma’am," he replied in a very small voice.

"And you," Minerva turned to face a shame-faced Madam Pomfrey, "have not only supplied him with refreshments while he indulged in these dubious activities, but actually allowed yourself to be persuaded to violently awake one of the boys when he was attempting to get some much needed rest, just because that old reprobate" she nodded at the cowering headmaster, "wanted to continue taking notes."

The medi-witch mumbled, "It was only a tap," but nodded her head reluctantly, a blush of shame gracing her cheeks.

Minerva sighed. She was used to the headmaster’s strange ways, after forty years one got used to most things, but this time he had crossed the line. How could taking notes on the boys’ reactions help either of them? She glanced into the ward at the two teenagers. 

Poor Mr Weasley seemed to have developed a twitch; even with Draco still hidden behind the screen Ron would flinch every time the other boy moved, breathed or blinked. And as for Mr Malfoy, well she just didn’t know. That inscrutable little bastard had always left her at a total loss. Minerva actually felt a flutter of something akin to warmth at the idea that Draco might have finally found someone to shatter his veneer of ice. And she found herself suddenly fiercely protective towards both of them. 

Looking up, she realised that the other two occupants of the room appeared to be awaiting her response. Right, it was time she ascertained exactly how much damage had already been done. Minerva glanced fleetingly at the headmaster, tutted, then turned back to Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy, why don’t you tell me what has happened so far, while Albus makes us both a cup of tea."

________________________________________________________________

A shame-faced Hermione helped Pansy back into her seat.

"Um, sorry," she said blushing and ducking her head. "I was a bit taken aback."

"Really?" The Slytherin girl replied dryly. Pansy was shocked that Granger even knew such words.

"Well – well, you were being ridiculous." Hermione was frowning again. "Seamus does NOT fancy Ron!"

"Yeah, he does." Pansy nodded. "You should have seen his reaction to dear old Draco’s earlier revelation. I thought the poor boy was going to cry. Can’t say I blame him. Must be quite upsetting to discover you’re up against Draco Malfoy. Oh, but then you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?" She smiled sweetly at Hermione.

But before the Gryffindor girl could respond Pansy continued. "And I’m sure Potter can come as no surprise – Merlin knows they’ve been practically joined at the hip since they met." She sat back with a smug look on her face and waited for the fireworks to begin.

For a moment Hermione seemed at a loss for words. "What are you trying to imply, Parkinson?" She finally managed to grit out while glaring at Pansy through narrowed eyes. 

"Don’t tell me that you’ve never thought it odd how close those two are,” Pansy said gleefully; she was enjoying seeing Granger so rattled. “And surely Weasley being the thing Potter would miss most was a bit of a clue?" She shook her head smiling. "Poor Draco broke down in tears when he heard that." 

"But – but – " Hermione stammered. Then, seeming to rally her senses, she took a deep breath and declared loudly. "It’s a plot!"

Pansy had unfortunately been taking a sip of her tea at this point and subsequently snorted it through her nose. It took her a few moments to recover from the ensuing coughing fit but when she had, she turned incredulous, if watery, eyes to the other girl and exclaimed. "It’s a bloody WHAT?"

Hermione had narrowed her eyes at Pansy’s response. She set her jaw now, clearly determined not to be mocked out of her current stance.

"I’m pretty sure you heard," she snapped.

"Oh, I heard alright." Pansy continued to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just thought you might welcome the chance to deny it."

"And precisely why would I deny what it is blatantly obvious?"

Pansy sniggered. "Deny. Blatantly obvious. Oh, Granger, bless your desperate Gryffindor heart."

And all at once something seemed to cave inside Hermione, like a puppet with its strings cut her shoulders slumped and she put her head in her hands. It looked like surrender.

Pansy looked over at Hermione’s bowed head and something very odd happened. Suddenly the world seemed to shift sharply to the left. A younger Pansy, listening to Draco describe his fight with a fellow first year Gryffindor, replayed itself in her head. And then the world moved back. But Pansy remembered, remembered all too well and her heart felt unsteady and a little broken.

She considered Hermione for a moment longer before reaching a decision. Pansy sighed and then addressed the other girl.

"Hermione, I know this is hard to hear." Shaking her head Pansy continued. "Trust me I’ve been there. But it is the truth and I can prove it." For a second she hesitated in her resolve but then her eyes connected with Hermione’s and Pansy knew what she had to do.

"Look, I can prove this and I will because you need to hear it. And accept it. It’s not just about Draco. There’s something there, Hermione, something between those two." 

Pansy shook her head again and then smiled at Hermione. "Merlin! Draco messed his hair up voluntarily at the thought that Weasley was in danger. Have you any idea what that means?"

Hermione quirked one eyebrow. "Death, Pestilence, Famine and War are going to be turning up on big, fiery horses any minute now, aren't they?"

There was a moment’s pause and then both girls started laughing.

Pansy recovered first (being the slightly less hysterical of the two at this point), "Listen Granger," she said suddenly business-like. "I’ve kept a journal since coming to Hogwarts. In it I’ve recorded pretty much most things pertaining to Draco – I’m sure you can guess why. I’m willing to let you read certain entries if it will help to convince you of the truth." 

Hermione looked confused at her words, the last of her strange humour wrested from her. She stared at Pansy, seeming at a loss to understand the sudden display of sympathy.

Aware of the other girl’s intense scrutiny Pansy turned away. "I will have to do some pretty heavy editing first – one or two entries concerning a certain Gryffindor Know-It-All may have to be deleted, or at the very least certain expletives removed." She risked a smile at Hermione. "Expect a package by tomorrow’s post."

And with that Pansy stood up and was gone.


	5. The Reminiscences of Pansy Parkinson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione receives something interesting in the morning post.

Hermione was eating her breakfast. Harry had just left, saying that he was going to try and visit Ron before class. She knew that Harry was feeling a little guilty because he hadn’t been able to speak to Ron since The Incident (as Harry had taken to calling it). Apparently, the day before he had waited until Ron had dozed off and slipped out of the Hospital Wing without a word to his best friend. Well, she couldn’t really blame him. As Harry had pointed out quite loudly, "Bloody hell, Hermione, Malfoy was in the next bed!"

Hermione was thinking back on the previous day and the unsettling conversation she had had with Pansy Parkinson. She still didn’t believe it. Draco Malfoy had a crush on Ron? For the past three years? How gullible did the other girl think she was? (Well, he did snog the arse off him in front of the entire school, Hermione’s brain helpfully supplied. Yes, thank you, I had noticed that small detail. Stupid brain). 

No, Hermione was sticking with the plot theory. Yes, it was definitely a plot. A plot to get to Harry. Lord Voldemort had ordered Draco to – to – kiss Ron in front of Harry (the rest of the school being there was just incidental) in order to – um – to – erm – induce a coronary! There! 

Hermione slammed her head down on the table with a groan. She couldn’t believe that she’d been reduced to this.

A flutter of wings and a strong smell of owl urine told her that the post had arrived. Hermione really ought to have a word with Dumbledore about the benefits of a Muggle postal system. Owl delivery might sound quaint, but in practise, it more often than not resulted in owl poop in your pumpkin juice and half-eaten, soggy letters. Muggle postmen may have had their faults – leaving the gate open, not delivering anything important until well after mid-day, whistling loudly, upsetting the dog – but they could usually be relied on not to pee on the latest missal from your great aunt Nora (well, not unless you‘d _really_ pissed them off).

A dollop of milk in the eye interrupted Hermione’s thoughts. Sitting up she noticed that there now appeared to be a large book atop her bowl of cereal. 

Damn. 

Hermione had managed over the course of the last twelve hours to convince herself that Pansy’s offer the previous day had been an elaborate joke. But now… now, the title, spelled out in gold, was looking Hermione squarely in the eye and mocking her: **_The Reminiscences of Pansy Parkinson_**. 

Oh hell. 

________________________________________________________________

Hermione had done something bad, something very, very bad. Something she never, ever thought she’d do. Quite possibly the worse thing imaginable (Hermione had a spectacularly poor imagination). Worse than the Killing Curse – well, okay that may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but it was a close thing – she’d skipped class.

Some things were just too important to wait.

She opened the large book on her knees. A note fluttered out. Hermione picked it up and read it.

_Granger_

_Here as promised is my journal - heavily edited naturally! I appreciate that some of my comments may appear somewhat dense in the light of recent developments, but back then I was as much in the dark as you would still like to be._

_You being, as dear Draco would say ‘a filthy Mudblood’ you probably don’t know how a pedigree witch’s journal works, so I will explain. Whenever you see {~~~~~~} this denotes an actual memory, a “flashback” is probably how you would best understand it. It’s a bit like a pensieve, only in paper form. In short, I have captured the actual experience as it happened, at least from my perspective. Perhaps one day we should steal Draco’s journal and read the same events from his point of view. I’m sure it would make interesting reading._

_I hope, after reading this, you will understand that Draco’s feelings for Weasley are sincere. Yes, I know, they make me want to hurl too, but they are sincere. I once held strong feelings for Draco myself, however, since becoming his confidant in this matter, I have had to surrender those feelings, and accept that he will never feel the same. I know you have feelings for Weasley – Merlin knows why – but it’s time you, like I before you, bow to the inevitable. Granger, these two were meant to be. It’s only a matter of time now before Ron realises it too._

_P.P._

A flood of emotions washed over Hermione as she read. 

Filthy Mudblood! Pedigree witch! Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that she may have just been called a _mongrel_. What a complete bitch (well that was certainly appropriate). 

Of course, Hermione hadn’t known how a non-Muggle born witch’s journal worked so, it was… well, okay, nice of Pansy to explain. And she had to admit the idea of stealing Malfoy’s journal was intriguing (they must discuss that further). But the feeling that stood out, the one that overcame her as she opened the cover of the book was one of surprise – Pansy had actually called him ‘Ron’. Shaking her head in wonder, Hermione started to read the first entry.

**_September 1st_ **

Draco has gone off to see if the rumours about Harry Potter being on the train are true. He looked so cute for someone so short. He must be all of about 3 foot (I swear he slicks his hair back in the hope that it makes him look taller) but he struts around like he owns the train and everyone on it. He’s a proper little Lord Voldemort! Bless him.

Well, that was certainly interesting. Draco just got back. Apparently it is true. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. I wonder what he looks like. I bet he’s tall and dashing. I hear he has a lightening scar on his forehead. I couldn’t get any decent information out of Draco, he was much too distracted by Potter’s friend…

{~~~~~}

I looked up as the door opened and in came Draco, followed by those two idiots, Crabbe and Goyle. Draco sat down next to the window and stared out. He was breathing heavily and looked rather flushed. It was a bit of a shock. In the six years I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any colour in those pasty cheeks. I wonder what has Draco so worked up.

“Draco, are you okay? You seem a bit upset?”

He glared at me. “Of course I’m upset! Did you hear him?” He turned blazing eyes to Crabbe and Goyle. Obviously the trip to see Potter hadn’t gone well.

Goyle was busy nursing his finger and mumbling something about a "stupid, ruddy rat!" But Crabbe looked up and asked, “Who? Potter?”

I thought Draco was going to hit him. “No, you bloody idiot! The redhead? Did you see what he did?”

Vincent turned to me and shrugged, clearly he had no idea what Draco was talking about either. Then, obviously confusing me with someone who actually gave a damn, the big stupid oaf started to tell me what had happened.

“We walked into Potter’s carriage and Draco said –” But he was interrupted.

“Yes, yes –” Draco stood up. “But did you hear that redheaded boy? Did you hear him?”

Crabbe opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get a chance. 

“He laughed. He actually dared to laugh at my name.” 

Draco sat back down and looked out the window again. “Well, it was more a shy snigger really. How dare he, a lowly Weasley.” 

He turned to look at us. “Of course, father has talked about them. They’re dirt poor and a disgrace to the name of Wizardry by all accounts.” Draco bit his bottom lip and stared back out the window. “He never said their hair was that vivid though.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, when none of us really knew how to respond. I mean what an odd thing for Draco to say.

Thankfully, Gregory chose that moment to regale us all with the tale of how his finger had come to be twice its original size and three times as purple. However, he only got as far as describing how Weasley’s rat had continued to cling onto his finger as he waved his arm in the air, when once again Draco started ranting.

“Yes, yes, but did you hear Weasley? And with a smudge of dirt on his nose the whole time. I was very tempted to rub it off. It made it very hard to concentrate. He laughed at me – all cute sniggers and smudged noses. Bloody cheek…” He trailed off and looked out the window, chest heaving.

“Um, Draco?” He turned to glare at me. 

“What?”

“Did you just call this Weasley boy ‘ _cute_ ’?”

“No.”

Gregory and Vincent exchanged wide-eyed looks. “Yeah, you did.” 

Draco stood up and glared at all of us. “I did not. Bloody idiots! Why would I call a boy cute? Are you all bloody insane?” And he stormed out of the carriage.

How odd. Draco must really, really hate this Weasley chap to get so worked up. He was so angry that he obviously didn’t even realise what he was saying. 

Draco didn’t return until we had pulled into Hogsmeade station, and he refused to talk to any of us. Once we were all on the platform, he seemed to be looking around for something. Then, that hideous thing Hagrid started waving a lantern around and herded us onto some very precarious looking boats. I refused to let Crabbe and Goyle into mine – no way would it take the combined weight of those two imbeciles. 

When I looked around for Draco, I saw him walking towards my boat with his head down. After he got in I asked him where he’d been. The little tyke glared back, kicked me in the shin and told me to mind my own business! Sometimes he makes me so mad. Then he sat mumbling something about "stupid, bloody Potter, the need for bigger boats and bushy-haired, buck toothed harridans getting in the way…" 

It’s been a long journey. I’m sure we’ll all feel better after some dinner and a good night’s sleep.

 

**_9.30pm_ **

I’m writing this sitting in bed in my new dorm. I can’t believe I have to share a room with four other girls, how terribly plebeian. I must write to mummy tomorrow to complain.

Well, it’s been quite a strange day. First, there was all that nonsense on the train, and then the horror that was dinner. I felt like hitting Draco by the end. He droned on and on and on, for the length of each course, barely taking his eyes off the Gryffindor table. I swear to Voldemort I never want to hear another word about that idiot Weasley boy! 

{~~~~~}

I looked over at Draco shaking my head. He was straining his neck to see over the top of Crabbe, while a non-stop commentary fell from his open mouth. Merlin, how I wanted to hit him!

“Look at him,” he urged us all. “You can’t miss him, his hair is positively fluorescent.” Then, standing slightly to get a better look. “What’s he eating? Oh, I like those too.” Sitting back down, he glanced off to his left, “Oh, they must be his brothers. Twins. Their hair isn’t as red as his. He’s paler too. Of course, I knew he’d be sorted into Gryffindor, so I wasn’t disappointed – I mean surprised. It would have been funny if he’d ended up in Slytherin though, don’t you think? I mean what would his parents have said? And it would have split him and Potter up which would have been funny. I didn’t actually want him here or anything like that. Do you think the Gryffindor dorm is far from ours? I hope so – wouldn’t want to bump into Weasley every day, ha ha! I wonder if we‘ll have any classes with him – I mean with them, y‘know the Gryffindors. We must have some surely. It will be a good opportunity to show them up. Bet Weasley doesn’t know much. Do you think they’ll let us sit with people in other Houses or will we have to stay with our own House?” Then getting to his feet quickly, “Oh is dinner over? He’s leaving.” And he rushed to the end of the table and headed after the group of Gryffindors that were walking out. “Oh, they’re going upstairs and we’re going down here. Oh well, never mind – I mean, oh good. Wouldn’t want to see Weasley’s ugly mug any more than absolutely necessary. Ha ha!”

And Draco craned his neck to watch the Gryffindors ascending the stairs until they were out of sight. Then, turning back, he promptly walked straight into a suit of armour.

________________________________________________________________

I fear Draco dearest might be developing an unhealthy obsession with that ginger boy. I mean it’s all very well to hate someone, especially a stupid Gryffindor but he’s in danger of allowing this particular hate to get out of hand. I will have to keep my eye on him and make sure Draco shares his hatred equally among all the Gryffindors, ha! ha! 

Oh and Harry Potter isn’t tall or dashing – typical! And he wears THE worse glasses I’ve ever seen! As for the ‘famous’ scar – you can’t even see it, thanks to his awful hair. Urgh! And he was sorted into Gryffindor. Honestly! What a let-down!

 

**_September 2nd_ **

Merlin! The funniest thing just happened! Even funnier than watching Draco trying to dance with a suit of armour! I swear that boy is turning into the biggest klutz around here – he’s starting to make Goyle look positively poised! I just don’t know what’s come over him lately. Draco seems to have turned into a complete bumbling idiot. I actually felt sorry for him – well eventually, after I stopped laughing! Ha ha! (must make sure Draco never reads this!)

It happened on our way to breakfast. We were making our way over to the Slytherin table. Draco was just in front of me and was boasting loudly about how well he was going to do in all his classes. Unfortunately, he was so busy looking over at the Gryffindor table, that Draco didn’t notice that Vincent had stopped to tie his shoelace (I was rather surprised too – I didn’t know he knew how! Ha ha!). Poor Draco walked right into him, and did a quite spectacular somersault over his back. It really was hilarious – I didn’t realise Draco was into gymnastics!! His face was so red when he jumped up…

{~~~~~}

I quickly smothered my laughter as Draco leapt back to his feet, I knew he’d go mental if he saw me laughing so I feigned concern, “Are you okay, Draco dear?”

But he didn’t seem to hear me. He was looking frantically over at the Gryffindor table – again! 

“Did he see? Was he looking?”

We all exchanged confused looks.

“Did who see?” But again, Draco ignored me.

“Oh, it‘s okay, he’s still not here.” Draco let out a relieved sigh. Then, seeming to remember something, he turned and kicked Vincent hard. “You clumsy bloody oaf! You made me look like a right idiot – if he’d seen me you’d be dead now!”

Vincent was too busy hopping around, clutching his abused leg to respond, so I asked instead, “Who? If who had seen?”

I didn’t get it – why was Draco so worried about one particular person seeing – the hall was half full and most people had caught the whole stunning performance, showing their appreciation with catcalls and applause, not to mention gales of laughter (two particularly enterprising Gryffindors, those Weasley twins I think, had even held up makeshift score cards reading 9 and 9.5. I’m sure if Draco had seen them he would have complained because they hadn’t given him a perfect 10!). And yet the stupid boy seemed only concerned about one person. So who was it? 

Draco was still glancing over at the Gryffindor table… oh, surely not. It couldn’t be Weasley could it? Was Draco so wrapped up in hating that boy that he was more concerned about him witnessing his idiotic antics than half the bloody school? This was getting silly.

Draco seemed to notice my interest in where he was looking, and abruptly turned and started to walk towards the Slytherin table. “No one, never mind.”

But I wasn’t about to let it go.

“It’s not Weasley is it? You’re becoming obsessed with that kid, Draco. It’s really becoming a bit of a worry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pansy. Why would I care about that prat?” But he had definitely reddened when I’d mentioned Weasley. 

I continued to look at him suspiciously when we sat down. And I couldn’t help but notice that Draco made sure he was facing the Gryffindor table. Realising I was still watching him, Draco turned away and glanced up at the teacher’s table.

“If you must know, I was talking about Professor Snape,” he snapped, nodding in the direction of the Potion master’s empty seat. “You know how friendly he is with father. I didn’t want him reporting back that I’d made an idiot of myself on my second day.” 

Second day? Who was he kidding – what about that fiasco last night with the suit of armour? Still, I didn’t think it was a good time to bring that up. Interesting though, that Draco didn’t want Snape to see him making a fool of himself. And I don’t think it has anything to do with his father…

Vincent had been stupid enough to sit down opposite him and as Draco finished speaking he let out a sudden yelp of pain and fell backwards off the bench clutching his leg again. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Vincent, did I inadvertently catch you with my foot? How clumsy of me.” Draco smiled vindictively. 

He really is an evil little git. I think I might marry him one day. 

________________________________________________________________

Eew! I just found out something icky about Draco! It was just after we received our lesson timetables from Snape. I couldn’t help but notice how keen Draco was to get his hands on one, practically falling over himself to get to the front of the queue. He seemed very excited and looked rather flushed. For a timetable? It was only as we were reading them that I realised how preoccupied Draco appeared with one particular class. And something began to dawn on me.

{~~~~~}

Draco is such a pushy git sometimes! I had just taken my time table from Snape when the stroppy little bugger shouldered me out of the way and practically grabbed one out of the man’s hands. Snape didn’t look very impressed either and actually hit the stupid boy across the back of the head with the remaining sheets but Draco didn’t even notice. He was much too interested in scanning the paper in his hand. 

He must have read it in a matter of seconds, as I had only finished reading up to Tuesday when I heard Draco mutter, “Damn! Not until Friday." 

I glanced up at him to see what he meant, but Draco was still looking at the paper so I figured he hadn’t meant to be heard. I quickly looked at Friday’s schedule to find out what he was talking about.

“Double potions. Oh, that’s right it’s your favourite subject, isn’t it?”

Draco looked up at that, and I could have sworn he was blushing slightly. Interesting. I’m beginning to suspect there’s something more going on here.

“Oh dear, but it’s with those dreadful Gryffindors. I wonder what your beloved Snape will make of Weasley and Potter.” Yes! There was a definite blush this time. 

Ha! You know I think Draco may have a bit of a crush.

“Just think two whole hours in a darkened room with Weasley. Good job Snape will be there to stop you jumping on each other.”

I am SO right! Draco actually became so flustered by my comment, that he had to leave the room, red faced and rather breathless. Who would have thought it? Draco with a crush. But of all the people he could have chosen… Snape! Eew!! Ick! Ick! Ick!

 

 ** _September 5th_**

Draco definitely fancies Snape! It’s the only explanation for how obscenely happy he was today - no one can like Potions _that_ much! 

I’m not too worried, I’ve read that it’s quite usual for young adults our age to have a crush on a teacher, and it means nothing at all. I don’t think there’s any danger of me falling for any of the trolls around here though! They’re all so hideous I’m just as likely to fall for the Giant Squid! I mean has Draco seen the size of Snape’s nose?! Not to mention his total failure to understand the amazing things one can do with shampoo! I’d have thought someone as obsessed with hair as Draco is – Merlin knows he never seems to tire of describing Weasley’s – would be fussier. 

Anyway, Draco was so keen to get to the lesson, that he dragged us all off early from breakfast to stand outside the classroom waiting for his hero to arrive!

He was looking anxiously over my shoulder when I noticed Draco’s eyes light up. I was sure that the man of the moment had arrived but it was only Weasley...

{~~~~~}

Draco immediately stepped forward to stand in front of Weasley.

“So, Weasley… come here often?” And he smiled. 

_Smiled!_

Weasley’s frown turned into a look of confusion. “Huh?”

I must admit, much as I loathe the boy, Weasley did have a point. What was Draco thinking? 

I turned to C & G and Millicent. We all wore the same confused look as Weasley. Come here often?!!

Draco was looking around at each of us as if suddenly realising where he was.

“Er – I mean – um, you know – do you – erm – come here often without your pathetic sidekick Potter?” And he turned to smirk at us a little uncertainly.

Weasley just shook his head and walked past us into the classroom mumbling, “Pathetic, really pathetic…” 

And again he did have a point. As insults go that was rather a weak effort, especially from Draco – I mean that boy is positively venomous as a rule. I’ve often said that he could probably reduce a Dementor to tears (if Draco ever stopped wetting himself long enough to be in the same room as one). 

And I thought it odd that he called Potter _Weasley’s_ sidekick. Surely it’s the other way around? 

But I think I know what’s going on. Yes, I’m pretty sure I know why Draco acted like such a blabbering idiot around Weasley. He was obviously distracted. Probably daydreaming about Snape! Eeew!!!! And double eeew! Poor besotted fool probably didn’t even know what he was saying. 

At least after Weasley arrived, Draco finally allowed us to go into the classroom. For some reason up to that point he had insisted that we wait outside for Snape. Don’t know why Draco changed his mind then, but it was nice to be able to sit down. 

When we got inside, Weasley was sitting near the back – he’d obviously heard about Snape’s tendency to pick on Gryffindors and was taking no chances. Wimp! I sat down in the front row expecting Draco to sit next to me. I was sure he’d want a good view of Snape (ick!). But he actually walked to the back of the classroom. 

Weasley had placed his book bag on the chair next to him, obviously saving it for Potter (ha! As if anyone else would want to sit there!). 

Draco walked over to Weasley and looked at his bag. Then at Weasley. Then at his bag. Back at Weasley. Then back to the bag. 

It might have gone on all day, but at that moment Potter came in, strode over to the desk and pushing past Draco, handed the bag back to Weasley and sat down. For a moment I thought Draco would Avada Kedavra him on the spot, but before he could say or do anything Snape walked in. I thought Draco would sit next to me then but the stupid boy sat behind Weasley instead. Damn him! 

At least the lesson went well. 

Snape was positively cruel to Potter, which was just lovely. 

I know Draco enjoyed it because every time I turned to look at him, he was wearing a dreamy expression and gazing at the desk in front. And when Snape told everyone to look at how perfectly Draco had stewed his slugs, I thought Draco would swoon with joy – his eyes were shining with happiness but he was obviously too embarrassed to look directly at Snape, the big sap! So he stared straight ahead instead, blushing beautifully. 

Pity all Draco had to stare at was the back of Weasley’s head. But he made the best of it, and actually wore a silly, soppy smile for the rest of the lesson.

Draco was in such a good mood for the rest of the day, it made a pleasant change. If he re-lived that lesson once, he re-lived it a thousand times. It was Weasley said this, Weasley said that, Weasley looked like this, Weasley looked like… oh. 

Weasley?

 

**_September 12th_ **

Draco is in a foul temper. I’ve come up to my room to escape. 

And to think today had started so well. 

The boy had positively skipped into breakfast after Snape told us we would be having our first flying lesson. Even when I pointed out that it would be with the Gryffindors, he didn’t seem to mind, in fact Draco looked even happier. 

I know Draco thinks he’s a bit of a genius on a broom, so he was probably looking forward to showing off in front of them. And I heard him sneering to C & G that Potter would hopefully fall off and break his neck. They’d still been laughing at that when Goyle had added that with a bit of luck he’d land on Weasley too. Draco had stopped laughing then and I could have sworn he deliberately trod on Gregory’s foot as he walked past. That boy is so moody, obviously in a snit because Greg thought of it before he did.

Draco didn’t take to Madam Hooch much either. 

He was obviously so determined to show off to Potter, that Draco actually went and stood at the Gryffindor end of the line. He must have been too late to get in front of Potter, so he had stood opposite Weasley instead. But Madam Hooch made him move further down to stand with the rest of us. Draco was lucky that she didn’t hear him – I was quite shocked at what he called her.

There then followed a rather amusing interlude with that fat boy from Gryffindor. I haven’t laughed so much since Draco fell over Vincent! 

After Hooch picked Longbottom (Merlin, what a name!) up from the floor and led the big buffoon off to the Infirmary, Draco saw his chance to get one over on Potter and flew off with fat boy’s Remembrall. I think Draco was quite surprised when Potter flew after him – we’d been told that he was brought up by Muggles, and hadn’t even known he was a Wizard until last week! Bit of a shock for Draco then, when Potter just hopped on his broom and followed him. 

I thought poor Draco was going to faint! 

He was furious by the time he’d watched Potter catch the Remembrall and land. Then, when all the Gryffindors started to cheer, I thought Draco’s head would explode. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Weasley, watching him clapping his friend on the back and cheering with the others. 

Draco finally managed to drag his eyes away when McGonagall turned up and hauled Potter off. He brightened up a bit then. We were all convinced that Boy Wonder would be expelled. Draco was quite ecstatic at the thought, asking gleefully, “I wonder what Weasley will do for a best friend then?” 

Unfortunately, Millicent has just come into the common room to tell us that Potter hasn’t been punished after all and that she’d actually overheard McGonagall telling Flitwick how much she’d been impressed by his flying skills. 

I took one look at Draco’s face and ran for it. I can still hear the crashes and bangs from up here. 

________________________________________________________________

Hermione looked up startled as someone walked through the portrait hole. She slammed the book shut as she recognised who it was.

“Ron! What are you doing out of the Hospital Wing?”

The redhead stared at her looking wide-eyed and shocked. He seemed unable to answer. Lifting trembling fingers to his lips, he giggled slightly hysterically.

Hermione was worried now. Did the boy have a concussion? Perhaps she should call Madam Pomfrey. She stood up and walked towards him.

“Ron, are you okay?” She asked gently.

The most serene smile Hermione had ever seen suddenly bloomed across his face.

“I’m good Hermione. Very good.” And he walked up to the boy’s dorm.

Hermione watched him leave. What the –?

But before she could even finish the thought, Harry came bursting into the room. He was out of breath, and looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards; he had a cut lip and one of the lenses of his glasses was broken.

“Where’s Ron?” He gasped out.

Hermione pointed wordlessly up the stairs. Before she could ask him what was going on, Harry had run up the stairs taking them two at a time.

Well that was odd…

Once again, her thoughts were cut abruptly short. This time it was Seamus who ran into the room. If anything he looked in a worse state than Harry. His robe was torn and his left eye was turning an interesting shade of violet.

“What the fu–?”

“Ron?”

Once again, Hermione pointed to the stairs. The Irishman walked purposefully toward them.

“But Harry has already –”

Seamus turned sharply at her words, “Potter’s up there too?” He snapped.

Hermione suddenly felt a little afraid for Harry. “Er – yes.”

And then, Seamus too was gone. Hermione couldn’t have said how many steps he had taken at a time, but it had been pretty impressive for someone with legs as short as Seamus. She wouldn’t have been the least surprised if he’d strained something.

But just what was going on?

Suddenly Hermione dropped the book in her hands as a loud bang echoed through the room. Someone was kicking at the entrance to the room. Hermione heard a high-pitched yelp and then the Fat Lady screaming at her unknown assailant.

“Just what do you think you are doing young man?” 

It was a bloke then.

“How dare you assault me!”

Then a voice Hermione knew only too well yelled back.

“Shut up, you stupid old hag and let me in!”

Why on earth was Draco Malfoy trying to get into the Gryffindor common room? 

Hermione had a strong suspicion that it had something to do with Seamus, Harry and, above all, Ron.

Another thought soon occurred to her.

Was _anyone_ actually in class today?


	6. Dishevelled Friends and More Reminiscences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy, the amazing talking bush.

The previous day Professor McGonagall had soon recovered from the shock of finding Professor Dumbledore sucking on a sherbet lemon while he spied on his pupils (it wasn’t the spying that had surprised her but his choice of sweet; she’d been certain he was on a cockroach cluster kick). 

No, there was little about the old wizard’s behaviour that really shocked Minerva any longer (she recalled the parting advice passed onto her by the then outgoing Transfiguration teacher forty years earlier – “go slow and expect set-backs” - it was quite possibly the most pertinent piece of advice she had ever received). With this in mind, Minerva had chosen Madam Pomfrey to fill her in on what had occurred before her arrival. 

What she had heard had left her with a burning desire to stick Dumbledore’s wand where it would do most good (Minerva had long thought colonic irrigation the right way to go with the irascible old fool; it would take his mind off eavesdropping for a while if nothing else). But like the dignified witch she was, Minerva had rallied her self-control (plus she wasn’t sure where Dumbledore had secreted his wand and she wasn’t prepared to go foraging in the old fossil’s robes for fear of what else she might find) and had settled instead for scolding the headmaster out of the Infirmary and back to his study.

Sadly, Poppy’s narrative had also had another unfortunate side effect - Minerva had found that she desperately wanted to know what would happen next. Thankfully, she was a better woman than the headmaster (at least during the week, goodness knows what the old pervert got up to at the weekend) so she had not given into these baser feelings. No, Minerva respected the privacy of each student entrusted to her care; she was sworn to protect them against any who would exploit their vulnerabilities and would defend to the death their right to not have their lives picked over by idle spectators.

Which is why when Minerva found herself in Poppy’s office at 6.30 am the following morning it was with a clear conscience and purely in response to those finer feelings; Minerva was there to ensure that the boys basic human rights were not compromised by nosy old goats and to see if there was anything she could personally do to help them during this difficult time. Of course, in order to ascertain what help she could provide Minerva would first need to assess their current emotional and mental state and this would best be evaluated by observing their reactions to each other... oh, bugger it – at least she had the good grace not to take notes!

When Professor Dumbledore turned up with parchment and quill at the ready not ten minutes after herself, Minerva quelled any possible remark from the Headmaster with a steely glare. The grey haired old wizard knew enough to take his seat without comment, and carefully hid his smile behind a well-timed cough.

It was a little after 7.40am when Minerva finally cracked, letting out an exasperated huff she declared, “Oh, Merlin’s beard, enough is enough!” And with an imperious flick of her wand the screen separating the two boys disappeared with a slight _pop._

________________________________________________________________

Draco gave out an undignified squawk and sprayed tea all over his bedding and himself. On the upside, he also managed to land a good proportion on Madam Pomfrey who had been in the process of checking his temperature.

He risked a glance at the occupant of the other bed and gave a satisfied sigh… at least he had fared better than the Gryffindor.

As the screen had winked out of existence, Weasley had let out a very girly squeal, jerking his hand in the process and sending his cup sailing up in the air and over his right shoulder where it had proceeded to ricochet off the wall and hit him in the back of the head. Tea now dripped from Weasley’s sodden hair onto his appalled face and down onto his pyjamas. 

________________________________________________________________

Dumbledore turned towards Professor McGonagall. “Well,” he said smiling broadly. “That seemed to go well.”

Minerva responded with a groan and sank onto the nearest chair before placing her head in her hands.

The Headmaster nodded sympathetically, then, turning back to look into the ward, he picked up his parchment and quill and resumed taking notes.

________________________________________________________________

Madam Pomfrey swiftly ejected the boys from their beds so that she could spell the bedding clean. Both were in rather sad disarray but Ron was definitely the worst off; he stood shivering as the previously lukewarm tea cooled rapidly on his soaked pyjamas and through to his skin.

Draco glanced shyly out the corner of his eye at the other boy. He shook his head as he took in Weasley’s pathetic appearance and turned to glare at Madam Pomfrey in disgust. Huh! Some Healer! She’d managed to take the time to clean herself up before starting on her precious bedding but she’d happily left poor Weasley wet and shivering. The boy was going to get sick if she wasn’t careful. Stupid thoughtless bint!

Just then, Weasley sneezed. It was the final straw.

“Sod the beds, you useless woman!” Draco was glaring at the medi-witch who had stopped what she was doing and was looking at him in shock.

“I beg your par-” She started to say but got no further.

“Don’t you dare ‘beg your pardon’ me!” Draco turned towards a startled Ron and pointed a shaking finger at his sodden chest. “Are you going to leave Weasley to shiver himself into pneumonia, you cretin!” He turned blazing eyes back towards the medi-witch. “While I’m sure you consider those tatty sheets more worthy of your solicitous concern some of us consider Weasley’s health of slightly more consequence.” Draco’s eyes suddenly widened in shock as his brain seemed to finally catch up with his mouth. “Er, I mean people like his parents and friends… um.” 

Draco ducked his head and sat down on the edge of his recently re-made bed. He seemed to have acquired a deep fascination for his feet (at least he was finding it impossible to take his eyes off them).

Turning to take in Ron’s rather pitiful appearance Madam Pomfrey’s face swiftly went from angry to mortified. Shaking her head, she uttered a tight-lipped “quite” before moving toward the redhead and pointing her wand at his shivering frame.  
Ron was soon dry and dressed in warm pyjamas, a fresh cup of hot tea in his hands and was just beginning to feel better when the old witch took hold of his elbow and led him over to Malfoy’s bed.

“Here, Mr Weasley, sit on Mr Malfoy’s bed while I see to yours.” And without further ado she manoeuvred him onto the freshly made bed next to an equally wide-eyed Draco.

A few tense moments followed as both boys watched the medi-witch as she bustled around the other bed; each intent on ignoring the other’s existence. 

“There!” Madam Pomfrey surveyed the finished bed with satisfaction. 

Turning to the two boys on the next bed she nodded curtly at each of them. “Finish your tea, then you can both get dressed and return to your dorms. I’ve arranged with the Headmaster to have breakfast brought to you there, we felt it best if you didn’t have to face the Great Hall just yet.” And she turned to leave. When she reached the door she paused, looking back she smiled kindly at them, “And do try to stay out of trouble. I don’t want to see either of you here again… at least for a while.” Then she was gone and they were alone.

Ron recovered first; standing up he moved back over to his own bed and settled on the edge. Taking a deep breath he looked over at the other boy who was still staring at his feet. “Thanks.” 

Draco looked up startled. Ron smiled shyly at him and suddenly feeling brave continued, “Thanks… for shouting at Pomfrey for me.”

The blond shrugged and blushed but he didn’t look away this time. “You’re welcome. Silly bint needs to work on her priorities!”

And suddenly both boys were laughing.

________________________________________________________________

“Aaw… that’s so sweet.”

Dumbledore dropped his quill in shock. Looking over at Professor McGonagall he found himself (quite possibly for the first time in his life) at a loss for words. Instead he frowned at the image of a doe-eyed, wistful Minerva McGonagall and made a mental note to get Filch to check for any sign of large pods growing in her room.

________________________________________________________________

Hermione stepped over Filch’s mop and bucket and charmed shut the door to the small store room. As she sat carefully on the dubiously stained stool that stood in the gloomy corner of the tiny space, she tried not to be too appalled at how low she had sunk (eventually she’d make it back to Gryffindor Tower but she couldn’t resist a quick detour, Pansy’s diary was just too tempting to wait). She pulled the book from her bag and opened it at a random entry, too curious to worry about where to start.

**_October 12th_ **

I found Draco hiding in a bush today. 

Should I speak to Prof Snape? 

I think the boy may be cracking up. 

He claimed he was looking for a galleon he’d dropped, but I know better. Draco Malfoy would never risk sullying his appearance for mere money. 

No. 

He’s gone mad. It’s the only possible explanation…

{~~~~~~}

I was sitting on our usual bench in the quad waiting for Draco to join me so we could go to lunch. I could see the Drippy Duo occupying the next bench along. 

Potty was gazing raptly at the Weasel as he regaled him with some drivel or other. 

Eew!

Potter was positively drooling!

I’m sure he’s a shirt lifter and wants into Weasley’s pants! 

Ooh ick! 

Ha, I wonder if Granger realises that she has a rival! 

That silly [expletive deleted] cow, has spent the last six weeks following on behind Weasley like a pathetic lost puppy. And the stupid ginger git hasn’t even noticed! Talk about dense! You’d think the bushy-haired [expletive deleted] would take the hint! How someone can fail to see what’s right in front of their eyes is beyond me! 

[Hermione rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to throw the book at the wall].

Oh, this is ridiculous! If I have to watch those two for much longer I won’t even be able to stomach lunch let alone keep it down. 

Where is that boy? He’s already fifteen minutes late! Maybe I’ll go without him… wait, what the…

I’d just caught a flash of white hair in the bush behind Potter and Weasley’s bench. Standing up for a better look my suspicions were confirmed - it was definitely Draco.

What on earth is the idiot up to now…?

Circling round the back of the shrubbery, I was soon standing behind him. He appeared to be peering intently through the foliage at something and clearly hadn’t noticed me so I cleared my throat loudly to attract his attention.

I had no idea Draco could jump that high. 

It took Draco a few moments - and quite a few obscenities - to extricate himself from the clump of twigs and leaves that he had landed in. 

When he did, he resembled a small, blond shrub which went some way towards diluting the affect of the fierce glare he was aiming at me. I could barely contain my laughter, he looked so funny - Draco Malfoy the amazing talking bush! Ha ha!

Folding my arms I tried to look appalled rather than amused and asked, “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Instead of screaming at me for scaring the life out of him, which is what I had fully expected him to do, Draco actually looked rather sheepish. He mumbled something that I didn’t quite catch and why was he whispering?

“Speak up, Draco! How can I be expected to understand you when you mumble like that?”

He flushed, and took a step toward me. “Ssh Pansy, for Merlin’s sake. Do you want everyone to hear?”

Everyone? 

What was Draco on about? The only people anywhere near here were Potty and the Weasel and why would he care if they heard? Pillock!

Shaking my head, I tried again to find out what he was doing in the bloody bush in the first place. 

Lowering my voice this time - I thought if I humoured him, I was more likely to get an answer to my question - I asked, “Draco dearest, what are you doing hiding in a bush?”

Reddening further, Draco looked around as if afraid that someone would hear his reply. “I’m not hiding. I – I dropped a galleon and it rolled in here. I was just trying to find it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A galleon. You expect me to believe that Draco - get so much as a speck of dust on my robes and I’ll kill you - Malfoy was scrabbling around in dirt for a _galleon_?”

If I thought Draco had looked sheepish before, well, now he was looking positively woolly.

“Look, let’s just get out of here and go to lunch,” he said snippily and he grabbed hold of my elbow and began to steer me back out the way I’d come. 

But before we could go very far, a voice shouted out. “Parkinson, are you really that desperate that you’d get in a bush with Malfoy?”

Looking past Draco’s horrified face I saw Potter and Weasley watching us over the top of the bush. 

The ginger half of the Terrible Twosome was grinning stupidly, while Potter was clearly waiting for a response to his pathetic comment. Before I could say anything though, Weasley nudged Potter and said, “Come on, Harry, let’s leave these two lovebirds alone and go get lunch.” 

And they walked away laughing like two demented hyenas.

I couldn’t believe that Draco had stayed quiet throughout that and was just about to berate him for failing to defend me, when I suddenly found myself on my arse in the dirt. 

The little sod had actually had the nerve to push me over! _Me!_

“Great!” Draco screamed at me. “Now he thinks we’re a couple! Thank you SO much Pansy!” And he stormed off, deliberately standing on my hand as he went!

I am seriously reconsidering my decision to marry the little shit.

_Thinks we’re a couple!_ Ha! 

Draco should be more worried that Potter thinks he’s mental! 

Hiding in bushes!! 

And what does he care what Pothead thinks anyway?! 

No, I will definitely have to think carefully about my position on the whole marry D.M. front. I mean, do I really want to have to take my children to St.Mungo’s every time they ask to see their father? 

 

**_October 31st_ **

Well, the Halloween feast certainly went with a bang! 

But at least I know for sure now that Draco really cares for me. 

And he’s been acting more like himself lately too – insulting Potter whenever he can and glaring at the four eyed git the rest of the time. Draco seems to have switched the brunt of his animosity from Weasley to Potty over the last couple of weeks, although he still talks about the ginger prat far more often than I would prefer. 

But, all things considered I‘m pretty sure I will marry him after all. 

There’s no way Millicent is going to be a bridesmaid though, no matter how many hints she drops! I mean daddy may be loaded but even he would baulk at having to pay out what it would cost to cover someone the size of a barrage balloon in the finest satin!

{~~~~~~}

We’d barely taken our seats and started to eat when that insipid fool Quirrell came running into the Great Hall in hysterics. 

Seems a mountain troll had broken into the castle and was wandering around looking for a light snack. 

Honestly what a fuss! 

Prof Scaredy Pants promptly fainted and pandemonium broke out. 

People were screaming and running towards the exit in seconds! I sat shaking my head in disgust. Here we were surrounded by some of the most accomplished witches and wizards in the wizarding world, who had fought far worse than lone mountain trolls and yet everyone was still panicking. 

Bloody idiots! 

I turned to share my thoughts with Draco only to catch sight of him just disappearing out of the door. 

My hero!

Standing up, I made my way back to the common room, pretty much pulled along by the surging crowd. As I walked through the door, I heard Draco’s clearly distressed voice.

“Did everyone get out?” He had hold of Crabbe by the front of his robes and sounded positively distraught. 

How sweet he’s obviously worried about me. 

(Okay, not enough to actually put my safety before that of his own - well it was Draco - but at least, once he was safe, Draco had finally found the time to be worried for me).

“Yes, Draco, I told you. Dumbledore and the others made sure everyone had cleared out before they went off to tackle the troll. Now please let go!” And Vincent tried to remove Draco’s hands from his clothes.

But Draco wouldn’t let go. 

Oh bless, he must be really concerned about me.

“But are you sure? Everyone… even all the Gryffindors?” 

Okay, now he was just getting hysterical. Time to put him out of his misery.

I walked up to him and touched his arm. “It’s okay, Draco darling, I’m here.” 

Draco finally dropped his hands from Vincent’s robes, and turned desperate eyes to me. 

The poor thing, all those times feigning indifference and then he totally gives himself away by nearly having a heart attack when he thinks I’ve been eaten by a troll. 

I put my arms around Draco and gave him a hug. “There now, you can stop worrying about me. But I think it very sweet of you to be so concerned. I even forgive the fact that you buggered off and left me in the first place,” and releasing him I reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Draco looked so bewildered; obviously too overcome with relief.

“Er… I’m going to lie down… feel sick.” And he walked slowly off to the boys’ dorm looking very distressed indeed.

Oh, that poor, sweet boy! All that worry followed by the sudden rush of relief had knocked him quite ill. Draco clearly adores me. 

I think Italy would be a good place for a honeymoon, or maybe St.Tropez. I must go and find Millicent and see what she thinks…

_**November 1st** _

The troll wrecked one of the girls’ bathrooms. Oh, and apparently nearly clobbered the Drippy Duo and Granger to death. Stupid bloody troll - doesn’t it know _nearly_ just isn‘t good enough? Ha ha! 

And Draco’s still not well. He seemed to have made a complete recovery this morning but he’s just suffered a relapse and has had to go back to bed. Poor baby! 

Oh, and Draco was so embarrassed to have let his feelings show yesterday, that he kept trying to avoid me. 

Silly boy! 

Doesn’t he realise that it’s a compliment to know he was so worried and certainly nothing to be ashamed about? 

I tried to talk to Mils about it but she just acted odd and made a very strange comment about not booking the honeymoon quite yet…

{~~~~~~}

I woke up this morning feeling positively euphoric! Draco clearly loves me and I’ve definitely decided on St Tropez. Could things possibly get any better?

I looked for Draco in the common room but couldn’t see him anywhere. Then Millicent told me he had already left for breakfast. 

That was odd, we usually all went together. Mils said Draco had been anxious to find out if the troll had been caught and then she’d mumbled something about, "needing to make sure that it had no ginger hairs in its teeth". 

She really is a very odd girl.

Of course, I knew what was going on… I‘m very quick on picking up on these things. 

Obviously, darling Draco was embarrassed! 

Silly boy! 

I’d just have to be extra nice to Draco so he’d realise that far from finding his feelings repulsive, I returned them. It was the least I could do, after causing him all that worry.

When we arrived at our table I was shocked at the appearance of the poor thing. Draco looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink all night. And he was still chewing nervously on his nails, as if not quite able to believe I was okay after all. 

He was staring desperately straight ahead of him, clearly not even realising that he was looking at the seats usually occupied by Potter and co. Luckily, they were empty at the moment which is undoubtedly why Draco continued to stare at them. 

Draco was clearly lost in his thoughts, probably reliving the horror that had gripped him when he’d realised I wasn’t in the common room. The terrible anguish he must have felt, thinking I might be at the mercy of a vicious mountain troll. I just had to make him feel better.

I sat down next to Draco and gave the hand currently not in the process of being gnawed to death a squeeze.

“Oh, you poor darling, you look so tired. Are you sure you should be out of bed?”

Draco turned his head to me, looked down at my hand on his and then up at my face. “Oh, it’s you, Pansy.” 

Then he turned back to stare straight ahead again. 

Oh dear, I think it’s all been too much! I think Draco might be in shock!

Before I could pursue my concerns, Millicent decided to join us, and immediately started to tell us about what had happened last night after we had been herded from the hall. 

(Milly, is always the first with any news or gossip, I’ve never quite worked out how she does it). 

Anyway, she was soon filling us in on everything we’d missed.

I didn’t think Draco would be much interested in what she had to say, thinking he was too traumatised to take part, but he surprised me by clutching hold of her hand and asking quite earnestly, “Was anyone hurt?” 

Naturally, I took hold of Draco’s hand again in an effort to reassure him.

“I’m right _here_ , Draco. You can stop worrying now.” 

I tried to lift Draco’s hand to my cheek so he could feel how real I was; that I really was there with him, but the poor boy must have been more upset than I realised. Draco pulled his hand away and without even looking at me said. “For fucks sake, Pans, do sod off!”

Okay, I admit I was a little hurt by that - he’d never used the ‘f’ word to me before - but I tried to remember that he had suffered a terrible shock the night before and had clearly not had any sleep as a result. 

(But if the little shit _ever_ speaks to me like that again, I swear I am going to severely restrict his chances of producing children in the future…).

Millicent was shaking her head, and smirking at me in a very knowing manner. I glared back at her until she turned away and continued with her tale. 

Apparently, one of the school ghosts had witnessed the whole incident and had told her all the juicy details. 

(So that’s where she gets her info!).

Anyway, according to this ghost, that silly [expletive deleted] Granger had been trapped in one of the bathrooms with the troll. Just what the stupid [expletive deleted] bushy-haired [expletive deleted] Mudblood was doing there is anyone’s guess. 

Luckily for her (and tragically for the rest of us) those two morons Potty and the Weasel had come to her rescue. 

Surprisingly, according to Mils, it was actually the Weasel that had knocked out the troll, not Potter. Draco had let out a rather high-pitched yelp at that point, causing us all to look at him oddly. He looked rather embarrassed for a moment, and then said, “Damn!” 

We all nodded sympathetically - if the stupid ginger tosser hadn’t turned up then there would very likely be one less [expletive deleted], ugly, buck-toothed [expletive deleted] mongrel bitch in the world.

[Looking up from the book Hermione frowned. She was beginning to suspect she knew where most of Pansy’s ‘heavy editing’ had been required. She also couldn’t help wondering exactly _what_ words had been deleted - especially as ‘mongrel bitch’ and ‘Mudblood’ had been deemed fit to remain. Shaking her head Hermione resumed her reading…]

Draco seemed to take the news even worse than I did. 

Taking hold of Millicent’s hand again (oh yes, and I could see how much the fat cow enjoyed that!) Draco looked appalled and asked, “So they‘re really okay? _All_ of them?”

I know just how he feels. Perfect opportunity to wipe out three nasty little blots on the wizarding world totally wasted! 

Bloody useless troll!

It was shortly after this that Draco started to feel ill again. 

Millicent was just describing how big the troll had been and how close it had come to taking off Weasley’s head with its club, when Draco jumped up looking rather green and said he wasn’t feeling very well and was going to lie back down for a while. 

We didn’t see Draco for the rest of the day. 

He’s such a sensitive soul…

 

**_November 2nd_ **

Draco has been in a right old strop all day. And he seems to have once again transferred his rancour to a new subject - this time Granger! Some of the names he called her at breakfast were positively obscene. 

It has become apparent as the day has worn on that the troll incident has transformed the Drippy Duo into the Trying Trio. 

Well, as I pointed out to Draco, I suppose if you risk your life for someone you then feel obligated to acknowledge their existence. 

Draco didn’t seem impressed by what I had to say, though. 

I had just mentioned that at least the pathetic [expletive deleted] Mudblood freak had finally got the Weasel to notice her and now they could go away and live happily ever after raising a whole herd of bushy-haired, ginger brats, when Draco stood up and screamed at me, “Shut up you stupid pug-nosed cow!” And stormed out of the common room. 

_Well!_

That’s it… the wedding is off!

________________________________________________________________

Hermione was torn. On the one hand – “pathetic [expletive deleted] Mudblood freak”; on the other – “stupid pug-nosed cow”.

In the end the sheer ridiculousness of it all won out.

She slid off the stool and onto the dirty floor and laughed until she cried.


	7. Death Threats and Christmas Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Draco let out a particularly loud breath and declared, “I’m going to kill Harry Potter.”

Hermione Granger was very confused (and getting more confused by the hour). 

Just _what_ was going on with the boys in this school? 

Seamus clearly wasn’t talking to Harry and Harry seemed more than happy with the arrangement. Meanwhile, they were both constantly fussing over Ron – like two deranged mother hens. 

It had become so bad that poor Ron looked like a Niffler caught in the headlights whenever either one of them came near him; as if he expected them to go for his throat at any moment. It was actually quite funny (in a ‘excuse me while I gnaw my own foot off’ kind of way) 

Hermione had, of course, attempted to speak to Harry about the previous day‘s incident, but he had refused to explain his dishevelled appearance, telling her rather curtly that "not everything in Ron’s life concerns you!"

Hermione was even more confused – she hadn’t even mentioned Ron! 

She’d tried to talk to Seamus about it too, but the Irish boy had been positively rude, calling her a not very nice name in the process. 

As for Ron…

Well, he looked happier than she had ever seen him. 

Not ecstatic, jumping around, manic happy. No, more quietly content in a silly, adorable goofy-smile kind of way. As if he’d finally figured something out and now the final piece of a difficult puzzle had fallen into place. 

It had really started Hermione thinking…

She had re-read Pansy’s note several times. Particularly that last line. And now when she looked at Ron, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the Slytherin girl had been right… and oh my gods she was going to have to kill Malfoy. 

And quite possibly Harry and Seamus too… 

Hermione didn’t know what would happen once Ron finally merged back into the general populace, but she‘d be watching closely. 

Dumbledore had apparently decreed that Ron should take his meals in his room for the remainder of the weekend. The Headmaster knew that there would be a certain amount of curiosity regarding recent events, and Dumbledore didn’t want the boy to be bothered while he was still recovering from his ordeal. 

At least, that’s what Ron had told her. 

Personally, Hermione suspected more of the Headmaster’s infamous meddling. And she wondered just how much the old wizard knew (murdering Dumbledore could prove tricky). 

As a result of Ron’s temporary absence from the Great Hall, meal times had turned into a bit of a farce; Seamus and Harry making quite the double act. They’d race to the table, each determined to get there first and then proceeded to make every other occupant feel decidedly queasy as they shovelled food down their throats at a barf-inducing speed. They didn’t take their eyes off each other the whole time. As soon as one would bolt from the table the other would drop whatever they were holding (at lunch this had included a dish full of potatoes all over Neville) and give chase back to the common room where they’d both come to a screeching stop in front of a very wary looking Ron. 

It didn’t take a genius to work out that clearly neither boy wanted to leave the other alone with Ron. 

Hermione found herself feeling decidedly piqued that neither one of them seemed to have a problem with _her_ being left alone with him. 

Of course, Malfoy was also conspicuous by his absence. 

Hermione assumed that the Headmaster had decided that Draco too should eat in his room to avoid the scrutiny of the curious. 

This gave her a rather evil idea during dinner that night. 

In Hermione’s defence it should be pointed out that she had had to suffer through a particularly long afternoon of nauseating boy on boy fussing, and Harry was also making singularly disgusting noises next to her as he choked down his food.

She was just beginning to think that even so it would be just too cruel, when Hermione looked up and saw Seamus initiate the most repellent abuse of chocolate pudding that she had ever had the misfortune to witness. 

And no, Hermione decided that was it, she’d had enough! 

So, feigning nonchalance, Hermione reached over for the tomatoes and casually remarked, “I see Malfoy isn’t here again.” She paused for affect and then looking pointedly at Harry and Seamus continued with, “Now, I wonder where he could possibly be?”

There was a comical moment when the two boys just looked at each other before a look of dawning horror spread rapidly across their faces. 

Hermione sat back smiling triumphantly as she watched both boys falling over themselves to get to the exit (she did, however, spare a second to offer a sympathetic shrug to a chocolate pudding-covered Neville).

And then something started itching at her brain. A thought began to settle there and wouldn’t go away. 

Now that Hermione thought about it – where exactly was the pointy-faced bastard?

_______________________________________________________________

By the time Hermione dashed into the common room she was red faced and breathless. 

And felt like throwing up for all sorts of reasons. 

She tried to slip unnoticed into the nearest armchair, but Ron frowned at her suspiciously, before returning his attention to Harry and Seamus; the former appeared to be looking for something under the sofa and the latter had his head up the chimney (luckily, it was unseasonably clement, so the house-elves hadn’t lit a fire that day). 

All in all, it was probably one of the least auspicious moments for all three concerned, especially when Ron shook his head disgustedly and declared that he was going to bed and if anyone – and he meant _anyone_ \- attempted to follow him he would Avada Kedavra them on the spot and welcome life imprisonment in Azkaban as a little light relief!

It had been an uncomfortable evening for the three left behind. 

Seamus and Harry were too scared to enter their dorm, but felt equally unable to meet the other’s eye. In the end Harry had muttered something about needing to go to the library and had strode out of the common room - only to return a few minutes later to grab a startled Seamus by the elbow and drag him off with him. 

Hermione sat and glowered after them - and just why hadn’t they felt it necessary to drag _her_ off too? Bastards! 

________________________________________________________________

An hour later, Hermione had calmed down enough to think about things a little more rationally. 

At least Malfoy hadn’t been there. 

She didn’t know how she would have handled that. Every time she thought of having to see the blond boy and Ron together, Hermione’s hands would start to shake and her stomach would make like a Muggle washing machine on a spin cycle. Hermione knew it was mostly caused by dread but there was also a certain amount of curiosity. How would they react to each other? She had a feeling that the answer to that question might well provide her with the last piece of her own puzzle.

And Hermione still hadn’t decided how she felt about that. 

Sighing, she looked back down to the book in her hands and continued to read… 

**_December 21st_ **

I’m writing this on the train. Finally we’re on our way home for the Christmas holidays! 

I can’t wait to get home - ah the bliss of having a room to myself again, even if it is only for two weeks! Oh, and not to have to listen to Draco moaning on about the injustice of having to go home while others get to stay at school! 

Why would Draco even want to stay? 

He’s been taunting Potty and the Weasel about having to do just that, for the last couple of weeks. Constantly going on about them being so pathetic that no one wants them for Christmas! 

He’d even taunted Weasley at one point with an invitation to the manor! As if!

{~~~~~~}

“So Potty, I hear your Muggle relatives have refused to have you home for Christmas.” Draco smirked over at the Drippy Duo as they helped that oaf Hagrid carry a Christmas tree into the Great Hall.

The Weasel immediately dropped his end of the tree and made a move towards Draco. But Potter grabbed hold of his arm saying, “Leave it, Ron. He’s not worth it.”

I saw Draco bristle at that and took a step behind Vincent.

“I’m worth more than you’ll ever be, Scarhead!” He spat back at Potter. 

Luckily, that stupid freak Hagrid hadn’t even noticed that his two little friends had let go of the tree and he’d continued into the hall oblivious of the argument, otherwise Draco would have been in big trouble for calling Potter that. 

The rest of us (with the exception of Weasley) thought it was hilarious and laughed loudly. 

Once again it was Weasley who tried to get to Draco. He obviously had a lot less restraint than Potter - or maybe he just couldn’t bear to hear his ickle boyfriend talked about like that! Ha ha! And also ick!

Potter was now holding Weasley by the back of his robes. “Just let me at him, Harry! I’ll soon wipe that smirk off his face.”

Draco moved closer and raising his eyebrows said, “Promise?”

Erm… that kind of threw us all a bit. 

There was a moment of awkward silence when no one really seemed to know quite how to respond. It wasn’t so much _what_ Draco had said as _how_ he had said it…

Potter recovered first. “Oh, bugger off, Malfoy!” And he turned back to go into the Great Hall dragging the Weasel with him.

But Draco wasn’t letting them get away that easily. “Oi, Weasley!” 

That stopped them. 

When he was sure he had their attention Draco continued with, “So I get why no one wants Pothead with them to ruin Christmas but what’s your story? How can your fat mother bear not having her baby boy at home with her?”

“Right, that does it!” Weasley lunged forward before Potter could stop him and grabbed Draco by the front of his robes. Pulling Draco towards him he shouted into his face, “Listen here, Malfoy, I wouldn’t expect a cold-hearted bastard like you to understand but maybe not all of us can afford to have everything the way we would want it to be - including Christmas!”

Again there was an awkward silence. 

Weasley suddenly looked embarrassed at having admitted his poverty-stricken status (like it was ever a secret!). 

Potter looked like he was going to cry (what a wimp!).

And Draco had gone all bright-eyed and breathless the moment Weasley had taken hold of him. He’s such a flaming coward!

I couldn’t help but smirk. Poor Weasel! Boy, he was really going to get it from Draco now - talk about leaving yourself wide-open. I looked expectantly at Draco.

Draco took a deep breath, licked his lips nervously (well, he was pretty close to Weasley’s fists!) and started to speak. 

Ha, here it comes… prepare to weep Weasel!

“You could come home with me.” 

_What?_

Weasley’s mouth dropped open and there were surprised gasps from everyone. 

What was Draco playing at? He must have been taking the piss, but he sounded disturbingly sincere…

Then, Draco leaned in closer and lowered his voice to barely a whisper, “I could show you how Christmas really ought to be celebrated.”

Weasley jumped back as if he’d been slapped. 

“Slimy bastard! So you think my family don’t know how to celebrate Christmas. Well for your information, Malfoy some people think there’s more to Christmas than getting everything you want.” 

He turned and walked back to Potter’s side. “I’d rather spend Christmas with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named than with your rotten family!” 

And the two Griffindorks walked into the hall.

I had moved to stand next to Draco and so was probably the only one who heard him whisper under his breath, “Not everything…” 

Right, who was he kidding - Draco always got everything on his Christmas list and then some. Perhaps he was thinking of Weasley’s head on a platter - oh well…maybe next year! Ha ha!

Gregory chose that moment to slap Draco on the back with a loud snort, “Ha! Nice going, Draco! Inviting him to the manor! Did you see his face - I think for a minute there he actually thought you were serious!”

We all laughed at that, though Draco’s sounded a bit forced, probably still smarting from Weasley’s words. 

We all joined in on a general Potter/Weasley verbal bashing then as we headed back to the dungeons. 

Draco didn’t say much. I think he was a bit upset at the Weasel’s parting shot - he absolutely hated anyone else having the final word. That’s probably why he went off in a huff shortly afterwards, having warned each of us never to mention the incident in front of him again on pain of a most bloody and prolonged death. 

Moody git! 

________________________________________________________________

Draco has spent the last hour pouting while glaring out the train window. I’m not sure what’s put him in such a foul mood. After all, it’s nearly Christmas and he’s on his way home to quite possibly the wealthiest estate in the country. I do hope he’s not still sulking about not being allowed to stay in school. I mean - Hogwarts or Malfoy Manor - I certainly know where I’d rather be… well, okay not right now because I’d probably have to murder Draco and that really could put a downer on Christmas. 

But really, what an annoying boy!

{~~~~~~}

“Did you see them?”

I looked up surprised from my journal. Draco had turned from the window and seemed to be addressing the carriage at large. Gregory and Vincent looked their usual intelligent selves and Millicent merely shrugged at me. Clearly none of us had a clue what the boy was talking about.

“Who, Draco dear?” As always it fell to me to humour him.

“Those two!” Draco spat back, his lip curling in disgust. “Potty and the Weasel. Did you see them as we were leaving - sitting in the Great Hall playing chess? Looking all smiley and – and – happy. Bastards!”

Now, I abhor Potter and his ginger shadow as much as the next person (especially if the next person happens to be Draco!) but even I felt he was being a little unreasonable. Surely, they’re allowed to play chess without the need for a constant air of melancholy? But before I could say anything further Draco had started off ranting again.

“There are no other Gryffindors staying in their dorm so they’ll have it all to themselves. Won’t that be cosy? I’m surprised the Mudblood didn’t insist on staying to keep an eye on them.”

Oh, so I wasn’t the only one. “Oh, you reckon Potter fancies his little Weasel too? I’ve had my suspicions for a-” But my words were cut off abruptly.

“What?! You mean…?" 

Draco was suddenly on his feet pacing the tiny space within the carriage. “How can they…? Potter… fancies…!” 

He seemed really distraught and was brushing his hands frantically through his hair.

We all exchanged horrified looks. What was wrong with him?

Suddenly Draco stopped, looked around at us, and sat down abruptly.

There was an awkward moment when the only sound was Draco’s harsh breaths. Then Millicent - bless her - quickly and loudly asked Crabbe what he hoped to get for Christmas this year and Vincent showing unusual presence of mind spent the next ten minutes detailing his rather lengthy list of demands.

Draco didn’t speak for at least an hour and we all carefully pretended he wasn’t there. This was rather difficult as he was very restless and twitched and sighed incessantly.

Finally, Draco let out a particularly loud breath and declared, “I’m going to kill Harry Potter.”

I thought it best to agree with him at this point, so leant over and patted his knee. “Of course you are, dear.” 

I rolled my eyes at Millicent. I’m sure boys aren’t meant to be this highly strung.

Draco seemed pleased with my response and smiled for the first time since we’d entered the carriage. Then nodding happily he went on, “There’ll be loud screams, a strong smell of burning flesh and lots of blood.” 

Oh, bless him, his little face was glowing contentedly now and his eyes were shining brightly. See, it didn’t take much to make him happy. And with a last serene sigh, Draco rested his head on my shoulder and drifted off to sleep, a happy smile still playing across his lips. 

 

**_December 31st_ **

Of course, as always we’ve been invited to the Malfoy’s New Year’s Ball. 

Usually I look forward to it - a chance to dazzle everyone in my latest stunning gown, to dance with Draco and to listen to all the lovely comments about us making the perfect couple. 

But this year I’m not quite so keen.

Draco has been sending me owls on a daily basis since I reached home - sometimes twice a day. 

Normally I would have been thrilled that Draco finally seemed to be putting more of an effort into our relationship but given the content of the letters I really wish he hadn’t bothered. 

Mother of course has been a complete chore over it. If I have to endure one more coy remark or giggle I swear to Voldemort I’ll pummel her to death with one of the house-elves!

{~~~~~~}

 

_21st December, Malfoy Manor_

Dear Pans

I’m so BORED!

There’s nothing to do here. No one to taunt - except the bloody house-elves and they’re bloody useless! Where’s the angry response? The red-faced magnificence of ~~W~~ any normal person. 

What do you think they’re doing at Hogwarts right now?

Draco

~~~~~~

_22nd December, Parkinson House_

Dear Draco

How can you be bored already - you’ve only been home a matter of hours!!

Oh, and what do I think they’re doing back at Hogwarts? Sleeping you prat - just like I was when your ruddy stupid owl turned up - it is _3am_ after all!

Pansy

~~~~~~

_22nd December, Malfoy Manor_

Pansy

I have to confess to feeling a little hurt by the tone of your last letter. If you can’t spare a few minutes of your time to make my life a little less awful, well then perhaps you don’t deserve the name ‘friend’!

It’s 8am now - I’d be in the Great Hall having breakfast if my parents weren’t so selfish. 

Do you think that as there are so few students left then perhaps they’re all sitting at the same table for the duration of the holidays? 

I hate my parents!

D. 

~~~~~~

_22nd December, Parkinson House_

Dear Draco

I’m very sorry if my last letter upset you but it _was_ the early hours of the morning and I wasn’t exactly feeling my best.

I do think that perhaps you’re being a little harsh on your parents - after all you spent the last couple of weeks taunting Potty and the Weasel about how neglected they should feel for having no one who wanted them home for Christmas. Is it really a hardship to spend time with parents who love you and actually want you home with them at Christmas time? 

Oh, and I’m sure you’re right about the table situation - so even more of a reason to be grateful you’re home - can you imagine having to share a table with the Gryffindors? Merlin! What if you had to sit next to Potter or Weasley?

Love

Pans x

~~~~~~

_23rd December, Malfoy Manor_

Parkinson

I am sorry that I have taken so long to respond to your last. Let’s just say I needed some time to calm down.

Pray tell, exactly how long have you been calling Weasley ‘The Weasel’? Correct me if I’m wrong but I was under the distinct impression that was _my_ name for him and I don’t remember giving you permission to use it.

In fact, Pansy, I have to say that I am rather appalled, not to say hurt, at your overall attitude. 

How dare you throw my unkind words back at me! 

I’m sure Weasley’s parents desperately wanted to have him home with them but tragic circumstances probably prevented it. Just because the dictates of society demand that I’m cruel to his face, Pansy doesn’t mean I want you reminding me of it!

And I think it particularly bad form to taunt me about the probable new seating arrangements.

Draco Malfoy

~~~~~~

_23rd December, Parkinson House_

 

Dearest Draco

I never intended to upset you by my last letter. I was simply trying to assure you that your parents meant well, that you were better off at home than school and that I’d only been angry due to lack of sleep.

Sorry about ‘The Weasel’ - I didn’t realise you felt that way about it. I promise from now on to always refer to him as Weasley.

I assume you were being sarcastic about the whole ‘Weasley going home’ thing! Or maybe you’re actually right…maybe he was wanted at home but just couldn’t bear to leave his boyfriend all alone at Christmas time. After all, this is the season to be with the one’s we love - ha ha!

Love 

Pansy

~~~~~~

_23rd December, Malfoy Manor_

Never write to me again.

D.M.

~~~~~~

_24th December, Parkinson House_

Draco

Oh, bugger it all, you prat! What did I do this time?

Pans

P.S. You better respond or else I’ll do to you what you did to Algie!

~~~~~~

_24th December, Malfoy Manor_

Pansy!

How dare you call _me_ a prat! You’re the one who implied an unhealthy relationship between Potter and ~~my~~ the Weasel!

D.

~~~~~~

_24th December, Parkinson House_

Draco

Urgh, okay you’re right - the thought of Potter and Weasley ‘going at it’ is quite icky! 

Glad you’re talking to me again!

Are you excited about tomorrow?

Love

Pans x

~~~~~~

27th December, Malfoy Manor

Miss Parkinson

Please keep your sick fantasies to yourself.

D.Malfoy

________________________________________________________________

I have sent several letters since, but I still haven’t received a response. 

I’m beginning to suspect that Draco might be homophobic. 

Looking over his earlier letters and considering his agitated response on the train, it certainly seems that any suggestion of Potter and Weasley being ‘together’ makes him feel decidedly upset, if not downright ill.

So, how come he has a crush on Snape? 

Boys! I’ll never understand them. 

Must go and get ready for the stupid Ball I suppose.

______________________________________________________________

Hermione was distracted by the sound of voices coming down the stairs and closed the book quickly. Further reading would have to wait.


	8. Fights, Chocolate Frogs and Suggestion Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore discovers that the problem with asking people for their opinion is that they're liable to give it to you.

Draco sighed and rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling. He really would have to speak to Dumbledore about the décor. Honestly, a blind paraplegic could do better. He sighed again and rolled back onto his stomach. It didn’t take him long to decide that he hated his pillow almost, but not quite as much, as the ceiling. 

Sighing, Draco sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. Sundays should be banned. Merlin he hated Sundays. Why was Sunday longer than any other day? But then once you got past Sunday you tended to end up at Monday and Monday meant…

Draco let out another loud sigh (and that was getting old really quick) and dropped his head in his hands. 

Fuck.

_______________________________________________________________ 

Seamus kicked his blankets off. He wasn’t particularly warm he just couldn’t stand the feel of them trapping his legs. Blankets were so outdated. Hadn’t Dumbledore heard of duvets? Fucking English – idiots the lot of them.

He glanced at his alarm clock. 3am. Nice. He had to be up in four hours and he wasn’t even close to sleeping. 

Seamus sat up and let out a loud sigh. He wondered if Ron was sleeping. Of course he was, after all, why wouldn’t he?

_______________________________________________________________

Harry was contemplating his surroundings. Curtains… why? And why have them around a bed? He’d have to have a word with the headmaster. The rest of the world had chrome high sleepers and they had four posters with musty tattered curtains.

And, oh Merlin, please let him sleep soon.

________________________________________________________________ 

Ron slept. 

His mind wasn’t always the sharpest; his psyche was quite often a whole frame of reference behind everybody else, but his body, his body always knew the score. And this time it knew sleep was definitely the way to go; Ron’s body was very pragmatic – Monday was coming whether they wanted it to or not, best to face it well rested.

____________________________________________________________

Hermione shifted her wand under the bedcovers. “Lumos,” she whispered. She’d already placed a Silencio charm around her bed so she wasn’t concerned about the crackling of the pages as they turned (bugger knows why she was whispering then).

_**January 12th** _

You know that phrase ‘when hell freezes over’? Well, I think there’s a good chance that Satan is dusting off his skates and spending this weekend practising his pirouettes! 

Let’s just say I never thought I’d see the day that Draco - don’t touch the hair - Malfoy would actually enjoy a fist fight! Apart from anything else he has to be one of the biggest cowards I’ve ever met. Consider: at the age of seven he had quite literally wet himself when my pet snake, Algernon, had escaped his cage and decided to curl up in Draco’s cloak, falling onto his bony, little shoulders when he had attempted to put it on. Algie went missing very soon after that and the next time I saw Draco he was wearing a brand new pair of snake-skin boots. I suppose I should have been more upset about it but truth was I’d gone off Algie quite a bit myself after he had shed his skin in my bed (and they really were very nice boots).

Over the ensuing years I had witnessed innumerable similar instances of Draco’s craven nature (although as far as I know that was the last time he had actually left a puddle in his wake) so the thought of the big sissy willingly participating in any sort of physical altercation was surprising to say the least. I was in for a shock that day then. 

I had been enjoying a quiet afternoon reading my favourite Muggle fashion magazine, everyone else having gone off to watch that stupid Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. They’re all mad. Why would any sane person stand out in the freezing cold to watch fourteen idiots flying around chasing after a number of cylindrical objects? 

Unfortunately, my solitude was interrupted all too soon when the end of the match was heralded by the returning crowds. Then Draco arrived. And well, I began to wonder if Quidditch might not be interesting after all…

{~~~~~~}

Draco walked into the common room looking so unlike himself that I was forced to raise both eyebrows (one simply lacking the impact to convey the full extent of my shock). I was somewhat irked by having to make this extra effort (after all it was the weekend) so didn’t feel particularly charitable. 

“What on Voldemort’s scorch blackened earth do you think you’ve been doing?”

I mean honestly! What a sight. Draco’s hair was positively wild – which I presumed would also be his mood when he eventually caught sight of himself in a mirror! He had the beginnings of a very impressive black eye, his shirt collar was torn and his lip bleeding; also his usually pasty face was flushed and his eyes were unnaturally bright. 

Breathing heavily, Draco jumped onto the nearest sofa, legs stretched out along its length, a self-satisfied smile playing across his bloody lips. 

If Draco’s strange appearance wasn’t enough to convince me that he wasn’t quite himself, then the manner of his response to my question most definitely was – normally he would have bristled to say the least at the fact that I’d had the gall to snap at him and done one of three things –

1\. Kicked me (Draco had a very vicious right foot when vexed).

2\. Mocked my intelligence while casting aspersions on my species (called me a stupid bitch).

3\. Thrown the nearest heavy object at my head (as long as it didn’t require too much effort of course – he was a spectacularly lazy git as a rule).

But to my amazement Draco just shrugged and licked at his bleeding lip, sighing happily. _Happily?_ Draco Malfoy looked like shit and was _happy_ about it?! Well, bring on the dancing hippogriffs. 

Just then Crabbe and Goyle walked in sniggering. They were boasting loudly about how they’d put Longbottom in the infirmary. I was very tempted to point out to them that the fact that it had taken _two_ of them to put that little dough ball into hospital was really not something to boast about but I just couldn’t muster the energy to care. So I ignored them instead.

Until that it is they started to ask Draco about his fight with Weasley. Now _that_ I couldn’t ignore. Draco had actually fought – as in touched/ made contact with – another human being, albeit the Weasel? Well, this was intriguing. I turned curious eyes towards Draco.

He still looked flushed and his colour deepened as he turned those bright eyes to me.

“You should have seen it, Pans,” Draco gushed. “It was fantastic.” His breathing had sped up now too. “One minute I was teasing him, the next I was on my back and he was on top of me. Straddling me… holding me down!”

With a hitched breath Draco suddenly jumped to his feet. “I’m a mess… must go shower!” And he practically sprinted from the room.

Silly boy. He’s forgotten his shampoo. 

_______________________________________________________________

Draco must have managed to find some suitable toiletries as he didn’t return for over an hour. At least he looked more like himself when he did return (if a little languid). Draco had had his eye healed but for some reason was still sporting the split lip. I gave him time to settle in an armchair before returning to the earlier topic.

“So, Draco, you and Weasley had a fight. I do hope he looks worse than you do otherwise I might suspect that you lost.”

I prepared to duck having spotted a heavy looking paperweight lying on the table close to Draco’s hand. But once again he surprised me – he smiled. I had just implied that he had lost to a Gryffindor, moreover a lowly Weasley and Draco was smiling. He was beginning to freak me out now. Perhaps he had hit his head during the fight?

He turned to face me, “Oh, I think it safe to say it was a draw,” Draco said dreamily. And he sat there for the rest of the evening wearing that rather unsettling smile, only breaking it to intermittently lick at his wounded lip. 

I felt almost sorry for boy-Weasley. Draco was clearly planning their next encounter and by the looks of things he intended to do some serious damage.

 _ **January 13th**_

I had been surprised and a little disappointed last night that Draco hadn’t shared the details of his little tussle with Weasley. Clearly I didn’t know when I was well off! The annoying git has gone on about it all bloody day today and I am heartily sick of the whole nasty episode. Over and over, again and again, throughout breakfast, lunch and dinner and everywhere in between. I’ve actually found myself longing for Monday morning and the welcome distraction of lessons. At least the boring little tit will have to shut up in McGonagall’s class! 

It’s been ‘Weasley grabbed this, Weasley grabbed that’, ‘Weasley felt like this, Weasley felt like that’ and (this just makes me shudder) Weasley _smelled_ like this, Weasley _smelled_ like that’. I mean that is just plain _wrong_. Okay if he had said the stupid prat had smelled like a cesspit or a dung heap fair enough. But – _’the cold… like autumn leaves’_??! Wrong, wrong, wrong! And why after talking for five interminable minutes about Weasley’s cold hands did Draco suddenly run off to the kitchens with a desperate need to lick an ice lolly? Not right I tell you! Not right at all. 

And another thing – what was Draco doing in the Gryffindor stand at the match in the first place? Surely he should have been in the Slytherin one? And why did he sit behind Weasley of all people? After all Draco never tires of telling us how he can’t stand the sight of the boy, so why go anywhere near him? I’m sorry but I really don’t think “to poke him in the back of the head of course” is an adequate explanation whatever Draco says! Boys!

________________________________________________________________

_**March 2nd** _

Oh dear, I’m beginning to suspect that the rarefied air of Malfoy Manor may have proven a little _too_ rare for Draco. It appears to have addled his brains. I mean, is collecting empty Chocolate Frog boxes a healthy past-time for an eleven year old boy? And yet that is exactly what the poor boy has been doing.

I discovered him yesterday huddled over his treasured horde, smiling contentedly. Merlin, it made me shudder. I mean, have you ever heard anything so creepy? Draco _contented_ … and not a drowning kitty in sight! He was fingering each crumpled box then lifting it to his nose so he could take a deep sniff. Urgh! It made me gag.

I stayed hidden, unable to approach Draco for fear of what I might say (not to mention the usual fear that he’d give me a good kicking) but also unable to move away (a bit like watching a broom crash really but without all the exciting sights and sounds). Poor Draco, he’s obviously one very sick individual. 

Looking closer at the wrappers themselves I noticed that they each had a date engraved onto their surface – presumably the date Draco had eaten them. Odd really… Draco isn’t much of a chocolate eater as a rule. Or at least I thought he wasn’t… ooh, maybe he has an eating disorder! And he keeps the boxes as a reminder of the fat boy trapped inside his skinny little body (apparently kept sedated by chocolate).

_**March 3rd** _

Okay, maybe not an eating disorder then, but definitely an unhealthy obsession with discarded chocolate wrappers. It’s become so bad that I actually saw D picking up one of Weasley’s Chocolate Frog boxes today! 

The Trying Trio had been walking in front of us when the ginger prat tossed the empty box over his shoulder (litter lout!). I thought nothing of it at first and had in fact made to crush it under foot imagining that it was that [expletive deleted] bushy-haired [expletive deleted] pig-faced [expletive deleted] mutant-retard’s skull-

[Hermione paused frowning – she was really going to have to speak to Pansy about her apparent inability to discuss her in anything less than glowing terms!]

-but before I could bring my foot down Draco pushed me off to the side. When I demanded an explanation he claimed he’d seen that Mudblood [expletive dele - Hermione rolled her eyes and read swiftly on….] casting some sort of hex on the box before it landed. Bollocks! If she did then she did it through the back of her [expletive deleted] head! No, I had my suspicions about Draco’s real motives. And sure enough, two minutes later just as we turned the corner into the quad, Draco suddenly said that he’d forgotten his book and turned to run back for it. I was feeling highly suspicious at this point, so hid behind the nearest bush so I could watch where he went. Draco immediately ran straight back to Weasley’s abandoned box and proceeded to pick it up and… well… _hug_ it!!! Then, looking around shiftily, Draco tucked it away inside his robe and started to walk back towards me. 

I’m really worried now.

_**March 4th** _

I’ve been thinking a lot about Draco’s OBD (Obsessive Box Disorder). I mean it’s bad enough that he retains his own rubbish but now he’s started collecting other people’s too. It can only end badly I’m sure. Is this how it starts for those mad people one sometimes hears about? You know the ones who live alone (apart from their twenty-nine cats) and when the stench from their decomposing body finally gets too much to ignore, some civic minded fool will break down their front door, only to discover forty-six tons of accumulated crap strewn about the premises…

Well, bugger that, I’ve had my sights on the Manor for far too long to surrender it to mountains of litter and Draco’s latest psychological quirk! 

I’ve decided to humour him for the moment. Perhaps if I encourage Draco’s little ’hobby’ now he’ll get it out of his system quicker. I’ve owled mummy asking her to send me two dozen Chocolate Frogs (I knew she’d be concerned by my request so I have assured her that I will stick my fingers down my throat after each and every one).

_**March 5th** _

My parcel from mummy arrived this morning at breakfast – together with a book entitled ‘The Dangers of Snacking’ – silly woman!

I had expected Draco to comment on it but he seemed preoccupied by something going on over at the Gryffindor table. At least it meant I was able to take my prize back to my dorm without having to make up some excuse.

Now to put my cunning plan into action…

_**9.30pm** _

Well! Seems I shouldn’t have wasted my precious time on the silly boy and his strange foibles after all! It turns out that this fetish of Draco’s has already run its course all by itself and fizzled out naturally. Honestly that boy! He is _so_ fickle! None of his obsessions ever last!

I had started out subtle, casually dropping a box as we walked around the grounds after lunch; he kicked it into the lake.

I tried again as we made our way to Herbology; he trod on it.

The third time was after dinner and this time Draco immediately bent down and picked it up. This led me to the not unreasonable assumption that previously he had just been trying to protect me from his guilty little secret but now temptation had obviously proven too much. Apparently, this was not the case. 

The little shit threw it back at me – hard! – hitting me on my otherwise perfect nose and thereby possibly marring me for life (I don’t care what that stupid medi-witch says!). While I was still preoccupied with rubbing the abused spot and before I could utter a word of protest that - that obnoxious little tit shouted, “For Merlin’s sake, Pansy! If you have to stuff your silly fat face full of calories then please do so without dropping your rubbish in the path of others!” 

He carried on walking and had just reached the foot of the boys’ stairs when Draco turned and carried on with, “And a note of warning – with a nose that pug shaped you really can’t afford to blow up like Millicent too. I know you come from reasonably good stock and your father would probably be willing to pay a considerable amount of money to off-load you, but remember Pans even greedy men have their standards!”

_Bastard!_

I know I’m probably just being paranoid but sometimes I doubt Draco’s commitment to our betrothal. 

________________________________________________________________

Hermione closed the book and stifled a snigger. She almost felt sorry for Pansy which in turn made her feel bad for laughing… then she remembered the number of [expletive deleteds] she’d encountered so far and suddenly felt a lot less guilty. What Hermione couldn’t quite believe was the other girl’s willingness to share her humiliation, especially with one of her supposed biggest enemies. And once again she thought back to that first conversation that they had shared and Pansy’s conviction that Draco was sincere regarding his feelings for Ron. Hermione reminded herself that the Slytherin girl was doing this to convince Hermione of that sincerity. And wondered how much longer she could continue to doubt it. Realisation came swiftly – doubt had never been the problem – _hope_ on the other hand…

Shaking her head, Hermione placed the book back under her bed then settled back under the covers. She really ought to get some sleep… she had a feeling tomorrow was going to prove particularly interesting.

_______________________________________________________________

Dumbledore emptied the overflowing box for the third time that day. He was beginning to suspect that a suggestion box may not have been one of his better ideas. Clearly he was being punished. Minerva had said it would come back to bite him in the arse (granted she may have termed it slightly differently) and she was right – Dumbledore held the proof in his hands. 

He glanced at the top parchment – seems someone took particular exception to the blandness of the ceilings; the precise, if somewhat cutting nature of the words brought a certain Slytherin to mind. 

The next, while worded carefully to cause least offence, at the same time left one in no doubt as to the author’s firm belief in the superiority of the suggestion within. It concerned the introduction of a Muggle postal system to replace the “quaint but arcane” owl system that to the author’s rather extensive knowledge had not been in vogue “well… ever.” Ah, Miss Granger. Still, she might have a point. Dumbledore had been deeply disturbed himself three days earlier when he’d complimented Dobby on the new cereal he’d enjoyed at breakfast that morning, only to be assured by the eager little House-elf that there was, in fact, no cereal within Hogwart’s kitchens that contained _raisins_.

Another seemed to take exception to the school’s “outdated by at least 20 years” bedding; it went on to further elucidate, “why we Irish are considered backwards by you English is beyond me – for fucks sake we invented the wheelbarrow for a reason!” Dumbledore would have to have a word with Mr Finnigan regarding the use of appropriate language even on supposedly anonymous suggestion forms.

Dumbledore frowned in confusion at the next piece of parchment. All it said was “Just an idea…” Huh? He turned it over to find a torn strip of glossy paper attached. It appeared to be a picture of a bed suspended in the air by long metal poles. How intriguing… Shaking his head Dumbledore sighed and decided perhaps it was time for bed.


	9. Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadly the boys discover that wishing it away doesn't work when it comes to Monday mornings. And Pansy makes an interesting suggestion.

In spite of at least three very fervent pleas to the contrary, Monday morning did in fact arrive as scheduled. 

There was much avoidance of eyes and shuffling of feet in one particular dorm room; raised voices and throwing of hissy fits in another.

Eventually, Pansy succumbed to the pathetic bleating of her fellow Slytherins; shaking her head she headed for the stairs to the boys dorm with a very determined tilt to her chin. 

As Draco’s latest tantrum had driven everyone else from the room, he had been reduced to taking out his frustrations on the wall. When Pansy walked in he was hopping around on one foot cursing up a blue streak.

“Tch, Draco, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

The blond boy had now slumped onto his bed and was examining his toes. He didn’t bother to look up as he replied. “Fuck off, Pansy! We both know if I ever kissed mother the shock would instantly kill us both.” 

Of course, Draco would never admit it, but he was secretly pleased that Pansy was here; Pansy was usually the only person who Draco could rely on to make him feel better.

“You are an utter total wanker, you know that right?”

Or perhaps not…

________________________________________________________________

Hermione took one look at the faces around the breakfast table and reached for the book in her bag. She had slipped a false cover over it entitled ‘ _The Giant Rebellion from a Goblin’s Perspective’ by J R Hartley_. Opening the covers she selected a date at random.

**_June 5th_**

Today was blisteringly hot and most of the school had taken to the grounds at some point to escape the stifling heat of the halls. I had limped down to the lake with Draco directly after lunch; though to be honest given his behaviour of late I seriously doubted the wisdom of Draco spending any extended time out in the sun. I had even gone so far as to suggest a sun hat but Draco hadn’t really been keen on the idea (hence the limp).

{~~~~~~} 

Draco dropped to the grass and stretched out on his back staring at the sky. I sat down next to him and examined the deep purple bruise that was developing rapidly over my left shin. I took a moment to glare at Draco before staring at his shoes – I swear the evil little tit wears steel-tips!

“I’m bored, Draco. Why don’t we take a walk around the lake?”

“Sod off, Pans!” Draco didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “I’ve no intention of moving from this spot for anything short of a Death Eater attack. And then it would only be to gain a better view of Potter being torn limb from ridiculously skinny limb.” 

He lifted his head and looked over at me. “But please don’t let that stop you, by all means bugger off and leave me in peace.” And he made shooing motions at me with his hands before settling back down on the grass.

Annoying little turd – a simple no would have sufficed!

I looked back over towards the school and watched as another large group escaped into the sunshine, recognising them I let out a groan, “Oh, way to spoil a lovely day!” 

“What’s wrong now, you irritating cow?” Draco asked in a bored voice. He always knew how to make a girl feel special. 

“Nothing important, it’s just that the Gryffindorks have decided to contaminate the air with their presence.”

Draco sat up immediately and nearly did himself an injury turning to look behind him. 

“Where?” He was shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting off into the distance. “Stupid bleeding sun! I can’t see a bloody thing. Are they coming over here?” By this time Draco had twisted himself into a convoluted shape that would have made a contortionist weep.

“Relax, Draco, they’re heading towards the other side of the lake.”

“Oh.”

The poor boy sounded disappointed; obviously he had been looking forward to sharpening his acerbic wit at the expense of the Trying Trio and their nauseating chums. Bless him.

Suddenly Draco jumped to his feet. “Right, I can’t be doing with this lying around doing nothing. I’m off for a walk around the lake. You coming?”

“But I just suggested…” I got no further as the contrary little twit stalked away so I stood up and followed him. I probably wouldn’t have bothered but I had seen through Draco’s ruse – he was clearly heading towards the Gryffindors and there was no way I was about to miss out on some free entertainment.

As we drew closer to where they sat under a large willow tree, Draco let out a gasp of horror. “Merlin! I think I’m going to vomit.”

I followed his gaze and realised Draco had a point. Most of the boys had shucked their ties and a couple had even opened their shirts. Urgh! I’d never seen so much pasty white flesh in one place – well, outside a morgue (and incidentally didn’t Snape have some very strange ideas regarding field trips?).

“Good grief there should be a law against it.” Draco was clearly not impressed either.

I’d been quite surprised earlier when Draco had actually ventured out without his own robes, he so rarely went anywhere without them. I took a moment to thank Merlin that he’d at least stopped at the robes. The idea of Draco shirtless was quite frankly terrifying – I could all too well imagine the mayhem and carnage as birds and Muggle aircraft plunged to the ground blinded by the glare from his scarily translucent skin (I decided it was probably best not to share these thoughts). 

To my surprise, Draco sat down on the small rise of ground a dozen or so feet behind the group. I had thought his intention was to accost them immediately and make mean comments; perhaps he was biding his time. I sat down next to him in eager anticipation of the verbal mauling to come.

A few moments passed without comment. Draco was hugging his knees and resting his chin on them, he looked really rather cute.

“Weasley must be sweltering.”

Huh?

“Why doesn’t he take his shirt off? Or at the very least open it.” 

I glanced at Draco, surprised by his comment. Surely he wasn’t encouraging more unnecessary exposure? He was looking intently over at the group and had started to gnaw on his thumb. 

Before I could respond he let out a loud groan. “Oh, good grief, no!” Draco’s eyes had widened in horror. 

I turned to follow his gaze. Potter was unbuttoning his shirt. I started to giggle (I’m not sure why).

Draco glared at me and leaned over to thump me on the arm. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Pans stop being such a girl!!” He turned back to the group in front of us. “I feel deeply nauseated. First Longbottom thinks that it is somehow acceptable to reveal his flabby guts to us and now The Boy Who Really Should Have Died Horribly At Birth decides to flash his puny chest at us. Is there no end to this madness? And why isn’t Weasley joining in? Stupid Weasel!”

I started giggling again. “Maybe he’s too embarrassed.”

“What?” Draco was glaring at me now. “Why would he be embarrassed?” He glanced back over at Weasley. “He’s in damn sight better shape than Potter, tiresome little weed that he is.”

I took a good look at the two boys in question. Of course, I’d never admit it to Draco but well, Potter’s chest wasn’t all that puny…

“Perhaps Weasley doesn’t want that Mudblood [expletive deleted] to see all his freckles!” I said.

 _“Whoa!”_

I stared at Draco in amazement. That was quite possibly the most non-Malfoyesque sound he had ever uttered. I waited for him to elaborate but he seemed mesmerised by events over at the Gryffindork tree. I turned to see what had arrested his attention so completely.

Weasley was blushing deeply but had started to unbutton his shirt, the other boys clearly teasing him into submission. He was standing up and facing us so we had a pretty good view of this disturbing development. Granger, the buck-toothed [expletive deleted] sad [expletive deleted] excuse for a witch was sitting at his feet gazing up adoringly, red-faced and glassy-eyed.

[Hermione paused to frown; she had never gazed adoringly at Ron _ever_ , nor had she ever been glassy-eyed! She huffed in disgust before carrying on reading.] 

I turned back to Draco to express my horror at this turn of events – at least now I understood his uncharacteristic outcry, I’d come over a bit uncharacteristic myself at the thought of yet more pasty flesh on display, only worse this time as it would inevitably be equally dappled with unsightly blemishes! Poor Draco couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away – I suppose it was a bit like picking at a scab – you know you shouldn’t, that it will only prolong the pain and slow down the healing process but you just can’t help yourself…

“Do you really think so?”

I was so shocked that the poor traumatised boy could even speak at this point that for a moment I just stared at him before his actual words filtered through to my brain.

“Er, do I really think what, Draco dear?” Taking in his appearance I began to feel that Draco + sun had been a dreadful mistake. He was almost as red-faced as Weasley and he had suddenly come over all breathless; I began to wonder what would be the quickest means to get him in doors and into some shade.

“You know, what you said.” He nodded his head towards Weasley. “Do you really think he has freckles –” Draco paused to take another deep breath, “on his chest.”

I was a bit perplexed by his question; why would Draco even care and if he waited a couple of minutes he’d know anyway. And why did he want to discuss Weasley’s chest for Merlin’s sake? Still as always when Draco was in one of his odd moods I thought it best to play along (I felt certain that my shins would thank me in the long run).

“Well, duh! I imagine the ginger freak has freckles just about everywhere,” I replied scathingly.

I glanced at the boy in question, he had about half the buttons undone now and Granger was positively drooling. [ _Was not_ …Hermione muttered] Shaking my head in disgust I looked back over at Draco. He said something that sounded like “ _everywhere_ ….” in a sort of high-pitched strangled voice. Then, before I could make any response, Draco leapt to his feet declaring “Oh Merlin, I can’t take anymore!” And he ran back off towards school (I didn’t even know the little tyke could run that fast. I suppose he just needed the right motivation and clearly the threat of Weasley’s freckle-soaked chest was it).

I was just thinking about following Draco to check that he was okay when Potter stood up and started to remove his shirt completely, and I thought perhaps Draco needed some time alone and settled back onto the grass. 

When I entered the common room an hour later, Draco was just returning from a refreshing shower and had an ice lolly firmly wedged in his mouth. He seems to have grown inordinately fond of those things lately – they’ll rot his teeth if he’s not careful.

________________________________________________________________

Professor McGonagall sat watching the drama playing out at the Gryffindor table. She glanced down the row of her fellow teachers; as she suspected the headmaster was also taking a keen interest in developments at that particular table. She heaved a sigh of relief; at least the old goat had stopped taking notes.

Taking in the clearly unhappy faces of Mr Potter and Mr Finnigan, she felt a sharp tug of guilt; had she done the right thing? Then she looked at Mr Weasley as he walked from the hall. There was definitely something about the boy this morning that arrested one’s attention. Glancing around the room she noted several other interested parties. Of course, there was bound to be a certain amount of idle curiosity surrounding events down at the lake but there was also something else going on. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, it wasn’t that Weasley suddenly seemed happy or content, it wasn’t that simple. The closest Minerva could come to defining it was _peace_ … Mr Weasley was at peace. For a boy seemingly always at odds with the world around him, a boy constantly in motion, fighting a thousand insecurities and struggling just to be seen it must have come as a bit of a shock. And a definite relief. 

Professor McGonagall nodded happily to herself… yes, she’d made the right decision. She was roused from her thoughts by the sound of shouting; she looked up and took in the disturbing sight of Mr Finnigan apparently trying to bite Mr Potter on the ankle. Mr Longbottom, meanwhile, appeared to have come second in a fight with a bowl of cornflakes. 

At that moment, Miss Granger glanced up from the book she had been reading and looked around her, she didn’t seem particularly surprised by what she saw. Shaking her head, Hermione turned towards the teachers table and for a moment their eyes connected. Hermione shrugged and rolled her eyes in the universal sign language for ‘ _men!_ ’ Minerva smiled nervously back… oh dear, perhaps removing the screen had been a mistake after all.

________________________________________________________________ 

Hermione exchanged a sympathetic look with Professor McGonagall. She was beginning to think neutering was the way to go with Harry and Seamus, a couple of strategically placed bricks would probably do the trick.

Shaking her head disapprovingly, she spared the grappling twosome one last scornful glance before returning her attention to her book; she had time for one more entry before class.

**_July 24th_ **

Well, I’m finally home, back in my room. Thank goodness, for the next seven weeks I won’t have to listen to Millicent’s snoring!

And I must admit I’m quite looking forward to having a break from Draco. He’s been quite irksome this past year. It’s this obsession with Potter and the Weasel. I am sick to death of hearing about what he intends to do with them both, particularly the ginger half of the Trying Twosome. And why does he always have to dash from the room after talking about the Weasel for any length of time? True, he always returns in a good mood, and usually requiring a nap but where does he go? And why? Perhaps he goes for a run to burn off all that aggression; but then he’s always so clean when he gets back…

Oh, of course! What an idiot I’ve been - Draco must be running and then he showers on account of being all sweaty and sticky afterwards. Makes sense… still… next year I might follow him to check it out… could be interesting. I find the idea of Draco jogging positively hilarious. Actually, anything involving Draco and sweat is highly amusing, if somewhat improbable!

This week in particular he nearly drove me to violence with his never-ending Weasley/Potter chatter. I mean it was the end of term I should have been able to relax and plan out my summer itinerary in peace but no such luck. It started with the news of Potter’s encounter with Quirrell and Lord V. Incidentally I’d never admit it to Draco of course (the tantrums just aren’t worth it) but I was a little impressed that Potter had survived a confrontation with the Dark Lord. I certainly wouldn’t fancy going up against him. I heard that Voldemort had attached himself to the back of Quirrell’s head - urgh! That must have been a lovely sight!

But anyway, as usual that fountain of all gossip, Millicent, had entertained us at breakfast with the details of the Gryffindorks’ previous day’s little adventure. She was describing (with some relish it has to be said) how Weasley had been knocked unconscious during a giant chess game, when Draco suddenly stood up and stormed out of the hall without a word. 

He is so jealous of any attention those three get! 

Millicent continued to fill us in on the details in Draco’s absence. 

When we returned to the common room, Draco was there, sulking in one of the armchairs. 

Poor Millicent! As soon as she walked in Draco jumped up, slapped her around the head and shouted, “For your information, you silly fat cow, Weasley is fine now and has been released from the infirmary!” 

I thought that was a little harsh - after all, it’s not like Millicent could be held responsible for Weasley’s recovery. I’m pretty sure if she could have managed it, then, she would quite happily have finished him off herself. If only to get into Draco’s good books (I happen to know that poor old Mils has a bit of a thing for Draco. Doesn’t she realise that she doesn’t stand a chance - she is just not his type - far too masculine).

Anyway she absolutely hates Weasley with a vengeance - I’ve personally been privy to some of the death fantasies she has thought up for the ginger pest. Funny but she doesn’t seem quite as homicidal towards Potter; surely if she wants to endear herself to Draco then that would be just as good a way to go? Maybe she just hates that ginger git anyway. I must admit I too would welcome Weasley’s violent early demise but that is definitely due to the fact that every day for the last nine months I have heard the name Weasley spoken anywhere between twenty and forty times!! I suspect after that even his own mother would be tempted to throttle the little shit.

________________________________________________________________

Hermione closed her book and looked around the Great Hall. Ron was nowhere in sight and Harry had just managed to dislodge Seamus from his leg and was limping out of the room, a rather dishevelled Seamus following close behind. 

She was contemplating making her way to class when a large snowy owl, not unlike Hedwig except with a cute tuft of feathers on its head, landed in front of her. 

For a moment Hermione regarded the bird in surprise, it was a little late for the regular post. However, she got no further in her thoughts as the bird stepped forward, let out a snort of impatience (she didn’t even know birds could snort!) and lifted its left leg in a very pointed manner. 

She looked at the feathered little snot with narrowed eyes; it positively reeked of disdain and all at once Hermione knew exactly who the bird belonged to… what did Pansy want now? 

Hermione took the note tied to the proffered leg and began to unfold it. The snooty owl gave her a final haughty ruffle of its feathers and took off with a scornful hoot. Hermione didn’t look up, but did pause in her reading to give it a sarcastic wave, then focusing her attention back on the note she frowned.

_Granger_

_We need to talk. Meet me outside the kitchens at lunch time._

_Oh, and if you haven’t figured it out yet (and let’s face it for a supposedly intelligent person you can be disturbingly slow in some areas) my journal continues to write itself… and perhaps I may have recently witnessed a certain interesting incident._

_P_

Hermione hastily gathered up her things and hurried out. Insults aside, this promised to be interesting. Transfiguration would just have to wait.


	10. Boys Really Need to Learn to Share Their (Boy)Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds out what had the boys all hot and flustered. And Pansy tries to talk some sense into Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be the last chapter but it seems there's going to be ~~one~~ two more. The final part will be up at some point this ~~week~~ year.

Hermione settled herself on her bed. The dormitory was deserted, everyone either still at breakfast or on their way to the first lesson of the day. Her curiosity well and truly piqued, Hermione turned to the very back of the book on her lap.

_**February 25th, 2001**_

Oh my. Wow. That was erm… interesting. Wonder if I have time for a quick cold shower before Potions…

{~~~~~~}

I decided I’d best drop in and check on Draco before class or Merlin knew I’d never hear the last of it!

I knew that he’d merely had one of his (all too common) hissy fits but doubtless Draco had by now elevated it to plague proportions. Sedated! Can you believe that the big sissy had actually had to be sedated? And all because his ickle Weasel had bopped his hideous ginger noggin on a teeny ickle rock. Seriously those two deserve each other!

Of course, Draco had done it in true Malfoy style! I mean, way to ‘out’ yourself to the entire bloody school… as well as delegations from two other prestigious schools, numerous journalists, oh yes and some rather important members of the Ministry.

Oh dear. Poor Draco must be feeling like crap; perhaps I should have visited him sooner. 

I began to quicken my pace – hopefully I’d get to him before he leapt from the nearest window.

As I neared the Infirmary, I spotted a familiar figure a few feet ahead of me and clearly heading in the same direction. I shouldn’t have been surprised; as I’d been trying to get through Granger’s thick skull Potter’s interest in his best friend went way beyond platonic and out the other side. Of course he’d be rushing to mop his beloved’s fevered brow. What a bloody waste!

I hung back a little – purely in the hopes of witnessing something that might prove damning at a later date you understand (and I was most definitely _not_ checking out Harry’s arse).

I was just behind Potter when he walked onto the corridor that led to the Infirmary which meant that we caught sight of Draco and Weasley almost at the exact same time. 

And, oh my goodness, _what_ a sight…

Well, this was new. It seems that the sight of two teenage boys wrapped around each other, tongues firmly lodged down each other’s throats, is my latest kink. Who knew?

I mean, I’ve always known Draco was hot; I’ve been attracted to him since forever and as he’s grown older – and taller – he’s grown pretty damn sexy too. But the Weasel?! Frankly I’ve never seen what Draco sees in the ginger idiot… until now.

I swear, together they were brain-meltingly _hot_. 

And this was why I drew my wand and prepared to Avada Kedavra Potter on the spot when the four-eyed little bastard stepped forward and pulled them apart. However, on quieter reflection, I decided to take a more magnanimous view of things. This new approach may have been helped along by the realisation that Harry had apparently had the rather fantastic idea of snogging the arse off his best friend himself. Clever boy that Potter.

I lowered my wand and slid down the wall. I have a very vague recollection of having leant up against it somewhere between Draco putting his hand on Weasley’s arse and Weasley shoving his hand up Draco’s shirt and it now provided some much needed support.

Sitting there on the floor, I found myself a bit preoccupied by Harry’s hand sliding down the back of Weasley’s trousers so it came as a bit of a shock to realise that Draco had recovered enough to drag the Gryffindor twosome apart. The selfish little tit.

Immediately I made a very solemn vow: as soon as I recovered the feeling in my legs, I was going to kick the blond shit into an inch of his life. 

Sadly, I never got the chance as Potter beat me to it and proceeded to do just that.

I managed to drag my gaze away from Draco and Harry’s grappling to take in Weasley’s stunned and tousled appearance. And Merlin forgive me, but at that moment I was half inclined to finish the job myself - trust me a half-ravished Ron Weasley is a sight to behold indeed! His hair was mussed, his lips kiss-swollen and wet; add in flushed cheeks, glazed blue eyes and those endearing little huffs of breath and well… 

I was just starting to drag myself up off the floor to mount my own attack, when that Irish bastard, Finnigan, appeared from nowhere and jumped the queue.

By this time I got the distinct impression that Weasley had pretty much no idea whose tongue was inside his mouth and frankly I don’t think he particularly cared.

At least this latest development did manage to wrest Draco and Potter’s attention away from each other.

Actually, it was really rather comical the way they both seemed to become aware of what was going on at the same time. 

Having pulled apart to take in the - not bad actually, not bad at all - sight of Finnigan and Weasley kissing and touching, Draco and Harry paused just long enough to exchange looks of matching horror before diverting all their attention and energy away from killing each other and onto separating the other two boys. 

One violent tussle later and Finnigan had been removed from Weasley’s mouth and various other body parts. Harry and Draco then proceeded to mount a joint attack on the Irish boy, occasionally seizing the opportunity to kick, gouge and bite each other in the ensuing melee.

Weasley, meanwhile, was doing that sexy panting thing again and well to be honest had I got to him in time then it would have all been over but for the mopping up; tragically the ginger one seemed to suddenly come to his senses and with a last quick glance at the fighting boys he beat a hasty retreat.

Bastard.

I turned to glare at the flailing threesome. 

Why couldn’t they just learn to _share_?

As I left I noticed that Potter had Finnigan pinned by his nostrils, while Draco was holding one hand up to protect his face as Finnigan tried to brain him with a bedpan.

 _Boys._

_______________________________________________________________

Hermione took a deep breath. And another.

Okay, perhaps it was time to ask Pansy to rate her journal entries ‘cos lordy that was… oh yeah.

Hermione was probably going to be even later to Transfiguration than she’d calculated. Oh well, McGonagall wasn’t _that_ scary. Now she’d better just re-read a line or two, just to make sure that she’d not missed any important details…

________________________________________________________________

Ron had slipped away from breakfast while Harry and Seamus were still trying to kill each other. Those two had been driving him mental all weekend. Ron was actually looking forward to going to class just so he wouldn’t have to put up with their constant hovering. His stomach fluttered nervously and Ron suddenly felt warm all over as he thought of the other reason he’d be glad to get to class that morning.

He’d come back to the dorm knowing it would be empty at this time of day. Soon he’d have to gather up his books and head to Transfiguration but for now Ron just needed a few minutes alone. He was lying on his bed looking up at the ceiling wondering what Malf- _Draco_ was doing. Ron absently lifted his fingers to touch his lips as he thought of the other boy. He smiled as he remembered; had it really only been three days since the Second Task and Draco’s ill-advised assault? Ron’s lips had certainly seen a lot of action since then; Draco’s response seemed to have been a catalyst, spurring on a couple of other fairly rash responses. 

Ron still wasn’t sure how he felt about Seamus and Harry’s recent behaviour. Surprised certainly and also a little flattered – Ron had gone from zero romantic prospects to suddenly having three boys vying for his attention. It was fairly overwhelming.

And more than a little annoying. 

Harry and Seamus were acting like right gits and getting on Ron’s last nerve. Harry was his friend, his best friend and Ron had never thought of him in any other terms. And he didn’t want to. Harry’s kiss might not have actually been repulsive while it was happening but that didn’t mean that Ron wanted to repeat it. It just felt wrong, like kissing Fred or George. Urgh. And Ron really could have done without that image, thank you very much. 

Of course, Seamus was his friend too, but Ron had discovered (possibly mid-snog) that his feelings for the Irish boy weren’t quite as clear cut as his feelings for Harry. In fact, Ron suspected that if Draco wasn’t in the picture, then he would likely be more than a bit willing to pursue matters with Seamus. 

But Draco _was_ in the picture and Ron couldn’t see beyond that. What’s more he was beginning to think that he hadn’t been able to see beyond Draco for quite some time. He’d like to claim that this was purely due to his preoccupation with wanting to throttle the little shit; just like he’d like to claim that he’d known all along exactly how he felt about the other boy. But well, sadly the truth was that Ron had once again been totally clueless. To his own feelings, Draco’s feelings, and now it seemed, Seamus and Harry’s too. Hermione was always accusing him of emotional constipation. Perhaps she had a point.

Ron rolled his eyes and sat up. There was no point putting it off any longer, it was time to go to class.

________________________________________________________________

Draco sat on his bed and rubbed at his abused foot. Stupid bloody wall. And Pansy could just sod off too. This was all her fault. Why hadn’t she stopped him from making such a big bloody fool of himself in the first place? She had been _right_ there. All it would have taken was a quick spell, or failing that she could have sat on him. Merlin knows he wouldn’t have been able to shift from under her fat arse. He glared up at her, silently daring her to say anything.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” Pansy said with an irritated shake of her head. “You only have yourself to blame, Draco, so stop trying to pin this on me.”

She raised her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “And don’t you dare try to deny that’s exactly what was going through your tiny little mind.”

Draco snapped his mouth shut. Stupid bloody girls and their stupid bloody clairvoyance. 

Pansy walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. Draco manfully resisted the urge to push her off (as well as the much more annoying urge to rest his head on her shoulder and demand she make it all better). 

“Is it really so bad?” She asked in a gentler voice.

Draco was just about to point out his bruised big toe, but before he got the chance, Pansy rolled her eyes at him and shoved him off the bed and onto the floor.

“Not your bloody foot, you twit!” 

She slid to the floor next to him and they both leaned back against the bed. Draco rested his head on the mattress and sighed. He knew what she was getting at, of course, he just wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. 

“I saw you, you know?” Pansy nudged his shoulder. “At the infirmary,” she added slyly.

Draco couldn’t help it. He bit down on his bottom lip in a valiant attempt to stifle his reaction but it was no good. His face broke out into a huge grin. Stupid idiot face.

Pansy nudged him harder. “You sly old dog,” she said clearly laughing at him now.

And for the first time in his life Draco found he didn’t care. About any of it. He rolled his head to look at her and they both started to snigger.

“Best snog _ever_ ,” he gasped out between giggles. 

And that did it. They both collapsed into uncontrolled laughter.

When they had settled down and the intermittent giggles had finally faded out, Pansy pressed her shoulder up against Draco’s again and said, “Why are you still afraid? You finally did something, Draco. And, hey look, the world didn’t end.”

Draco turned his head to look at her. “I did, didn’t I?” And it was strange to realise it, but he no longer wanted to smack her in the head for letting it happen. 

“There’s no going back now.”

Draco closed his eyes and let the truth of her words sink in. 

_____________________________________________________________

Most of the class was already there when Ron got to Transfiguration. Harry and Seamus both sat up a little straighter as he walked through the door, Ron ignored them and took his usual seat, grateful that Hermione wasn’t there yet so he didn’t have to face her careful scrutiny too. She seemed to have calmed down about the whole Draco thing, but ever since he’d returned from the Infirmary Ron felt that she was watching his every move and her constant gaze was becoming unnerving. He felt awkward enough about seeing Draco again without having to worry about Hermione watching.

Draco wasn’t there either. As he stared at the empty chair behind his own, Ron found himself warring with relief and disappointment. At least this way he would be seated safely behind his desk and hopefully in control of his reactions when the other boy did turn up. With that thought, Ron turned back around and placed his arms on the desk, slumping forward he rested his chin on them, determined to stay that way until he heard Professor McGonagall begin the lesson. 

He broke his vow less than a minute later. Hearing footsteps hurrying towards the open door, Ron was unable to resist sitting back up and looking anxiously toward the entrance, his stomach tying itself in knots and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. 

Draco walked into the room, swept past Ron’s desk and strode to the back of the classroom. Ron didn’t dare turn to see what was happening but he couldn’t fail to hear the loud “Move!” that was barked out (or fail to recognise the voice that said it). There was a shuffle of feet, the scrape of a chair and Ron knew someone had taken Draco’s seat behind him. He didn’t know who it was but he had a fucking good idea who it _wasn’t_.

Hermione chose that moment to arrive and if she saw the devastation Ron was feeling written clear across his face, well, he really didn’t give a shit. 

He didn’t give a shit about anything.

___________________________________________________ 

Hermione looked across the table at Harry and Seamus and shrugged. It was becoming clear to all of them that Ron wasn’t going to come to lunch. She had no idea where he was. Harry had checked out the tower and Seamus had wandered around the grounds but neither had seen the other boy. The truth was that Hogwarts was so vast that anyone not wanting to be found could easily conceal themselves. They would just have to wait for Ron to come out of hiding.

Draco and Pansy were also missing from the Great Hall. Hermione hoped Pansy was talking some sense into Draco (and hoped it involved something sharp and painful). Sighing she returned her attention to the book on her lap; she’d be meeting Pansy soon and learning Draco’s fate would have to wait until then. She didn’t dare re-read Pansy’s last instalment again in public, selecting an innocent looking early entry instead.

 _ **July 23rd**_

Finally I’ve finished packing and can spend some time catching up with you dear journal. Sometimes I think you’re the only one I can turn to, the only one who understands what a complete wanker Draco is. Well, okay that’s not quite true. Most of the school knows he’s a wanker but you’re the only one I can confide in on this matter. Everyone else would immediately go tattle to Draco and then I’d probably end up at the bottom of the lake, my feet weighed down with bludgers. 

You’d think I’d at least be allowed to enjoy the Leaving Feast in peace after what I’ve had to put up with the rest of the year. But, oh no, that would just be too much to ask! Bloody Draco and his stupid Weasley obsession.

{~~~~~~}

I closed my eyes and prepared to duck. Draco was going to lose his shit so bad. 

I can’t believe Dumbledore just did that! We had won. The House Cup was ours. And then that silly old coot had actually had the gall to stand up and calmly announce that he’d decided to hand out some more points just so he could make sure that his precious Gryffindor won instead. How unfair is that?!

Oh yes, Draco was definitely going to go ballistic.

I scooted along the bench as far as I could (no point in getting caught in the cross fire).

“What the fuck was that?”

Yep, shit losing definitely about to happen. 

I risked opening one eye. Draco looked furious (no surprise there) and was glaring over at the Gryffindor table where Potter and his little gang were grinning and cheering like idiots.

“Why did Potter get more points than Weasley? If it wasn’t for the Weasel he wouldn’t have even made it past the chess board. It was Weasley who sacrificed himself so Potter could go on. He should have got more points.”

Wait. What?

I looked around and saw that Blaise was looking as confused as I felt. 

“Draco,” Blaise said slowly. “Why are you arguing in favour of Weasley?”

Draco tore his eyes away from the Gryffindors and glared at Blaise instead.

“I’m not!” he spat out. “I’m arguing _against_ Potter.”

Blaise turned raised eyebrows to me. Why do all these silly boys always expect me to sort Draco out? It’s really starting to get very tiresome. I wanted to eat my dessert. I rolled my eyes at Blaise and moved back down the bench.

“Of course you are, dear,” I said patting Draco on the arm. “Leave Draco alone, Blaise,” I continued, turning to give Blaise an appropriately sour look. Really if the stupid boy was unwilling to deal with Draco’s bizarre utterances then he shouldn’t have opened his big bloody mouth in the first place.

At least my comforting words seemed to have calmed Draco and for a blissful few moments I was able to enjoy my profiteroles in peace. It didn’t last of course. 

“Why do we have to go home?” Draco suddenly asked, sounding even more peevish than usual. I was surprised, I thought he’d still be preoccupied with the loss of the Cup but he hadn’t even bothered to look up when the banners had changed to Gryffindor colours. And why on earth wouldn’t he want to go home?

“It will be so boring,” he went on, digging his spoon into his dish and massacring the remains of his dessert. “There’ll be no one to look at. Or sneer at.” 

He let out a loud sigh, dropped the spoon into the bowl and pushed the dish away. “I’m really going to miss Weasley,” he said miserably and looked over to where the ginger boy was sitting. 

This time Blaise wasn’t the only one with raised eyebrows. It had gone very quiet all along our table. 

Draco turned to look at us and suddenly seemed to realise that perhaps his words required further clarification. “You know,” he said crossly. “Because he’s so easy to rile. I’ll miss making Weasley angry that’s all. What else did you think, cretins?”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at the irritating little tit. I didn’t know about anyone else but I knew what I was thinking at that precise moment…

But exactly where was I going to get my hands on a red hot poker at this time of night?

________________________________________________________________

Hermione reluctantly closed the book. She still had to meet with Pansy and if she didn't leave now then she was going to be late for her afternoon classes and after this morning's tardiness she couldn't risk it. But it was definitely a wrench. While the current situation between Ron and Malfoy was starting to resemble a clusterfuck of epic proportions, Hermione couldn't regret the sequence of events that had brought Pansy's Journal into her life. She wiped away a stray tear of laughter and reached for the water jug; perhaps a few sips of water would help with the hiccups.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Draco was hiding. He knew it and he didn’t even feel remotely ashamed or embarrassed about it. 

Pansy was going to murder him when she got her hands on him. Although, Granger might well beat her to it (the look the Mudblood had given him as he'd left Transfiguration that morning had definitely held a promise of painful, bloody things to come).

Frankly he couldn’t blame either of them; he rather wanted to smack himself around a bit too. 

Merlin, he was such a moron. No, that was wrong, that implied ignorance and Draco had known exactly what he was doing. No, he was a coward that’s what he was, a sniveling and pathetic coward. He deserved a good kicking.

Draco was furious with himself. What had happened to his resolve? Where had all his bluster and swagger gone? Draco had never had a problem pursuing what he wanted before, had never doubted his appeal and ability to reel in anyone he chose. Bloody Weasley.

After his talk with Pansy, Draco had been determined to see this thing through. Her words had bolstered his resolve and he’d left her feeling more than equal to the task. He’d fully intended to walk into that room and leave Weasley (and anyone foolish enough to try to stake their own claim – stupid fucking Potter and Finnigan) in no doubt as to what he wanted. But somewhere between leaving the Slytherin dungeon and reaching the classroom his nerve had failed him and instead he’d crawled to the back of the room, too scared to sit close, too afraid to look, to speak. 

Too afraid of… everything.


	11. Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Hermione have a cunning plan.

As soon as she’d finished her glass of water and the hiccups had finally subsided, Hermione stuffed the journal hastily into her bag and hurried outside to meet Pansy. Earlier, she had spent a fair amount of time studying that last, fascinating entry and was now more than ready to hear Pansy’s thoughts on the subject. She’d also like to know exactly what Malfoy had thought he was doing that morning in Transfiguration class. Poor Ron had looked so sad. Malfoy needed a bloody good kick up the arse and Hermione was feeling particularly well equipped to give it.

“Granger.”

Pansy’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Parkinson,” Hermione replied with a nod as she fell into step with the other girl. They walked the now familiar path towards the lake.

Pansy soon got to the crux of the problem.

“Look, I think even you get by now that those two idiots want to be together.” She stopped walking and turned to face Hermione. “I’m guessing by your late and rather flushed appearance in Transfiguration this morning that you read the last part of my journal?”

Hermione blushed to the ends of her bushy hair but nodded.

“Well, yes I get that Ron’s focus might not exactly be on me,” she said a moment later. “Or indeed anyone else with breasts, but why should I believe that he wants to be with Draco more than say Harry or Seamus?”

She walked over to the boulders on the edge of the lake and sat down on one of the smaller ones. “According to your vivid and rather detailed notes, Ron didn’t exactly fight any of them off.” (The big ginger slut, she mentally added.)

Pansy shook her head and smiled, “Oh Hermione, I was there… trust me it’s Draco.” She paused for a moment, sighing wistfully. Then, seeing the cynical look on Hermione’s face, she grinned. “Okay, just take my word for it and I promise one day I’ll go into even more vivid and juicy detail and forward the entries to you.” Pansy smiled at the hopeful look that passed swiftly across the other girl’s face.

“And if that doesn’t convince you,” she went on, “tell me what has been Ron’s response to Harry and Seamus lately?”

Hermione frowned. Ron had been thoroughly fed up with the pair of them, that much was blatantly obvious. She hadn’t really been sure of the reason why until now. But having read that last entry in Pansy’s journal, Hermione could understand why Ron might be feeling a bit weird around them.

But, of course, what was certain was that Ron wasn’t looking at either of them in terms of wanting to be with them – well, not like _that_. Hermione felt sure that that the boys would work out their friendship in time but she was equally sure that Ron _only_ wanted friendship from the two in question.

As for how Ron felt about Malfoy… well, truthfully she had no idea.

Obviously, she now knew that Malfoy did indeed have strong feelings for Ron and had clearly done so pretty much from the moment he’d laid eyes on him; Pansy’s journal was pretty conclusive on that point. But Hermione still didn’t know how Ron felt about the Slytherin. And there was still that whole debacle this morning. If Malfoy had truly decided to reveal his feelings to Ron (and lest we forget – the whole ruddy school too) then what the hell had that been about? It seemed the more Hermione tried to understand what was going on, the muddier it all became.

Right, well, maybe it was time for a leap of faith. And she owed Pansy that; the other girl had taken an astonishing risk in sharing her journal with Hermione (even with the heavy editing). Pansy had laid out her feelings, leaving herself open to ridicule in some of the details she’d shared; perhaps it was time for Hermione to return that trust.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes and nodded slowly to herself. It was time to let it go.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?” She asked.

_____________________________________________________________

Ron was feeling pretty smug that he’d managed to stay hidden since lunchtime. Of course, he hadn’t actually missed lunch - the day a bit of boy trouble stopped Ron Weasley from eating would be a sad day indeed. No, he had gone to the kitchen where Dobby had set him up with a small feast (and an odd lecture about not settling for ladies who were clearly beneath the great Harry Potter’s Wheezy’s notice. Ron had nodded helplessly at the elf just to get him to shut up, but he’d had no clue what the little twerp was going on about. Totally barmy that one).

After he had finished eating, Ron had slipped back to the dorm and borrowed Harry’s cloak. Then, he’d simply gone back to bed. 

He’d heard a few people come back to the common room briefly before they left for their afternoon lessons, and at one point, Harry had come into the dorm – probably looking for Ron – but thankfully he hadn’t noticed that his cloak was gone or think to check Ron’s bed. 

Ron was just beginning to think about dinner and whether he should return to the kitchen or if he felt up to facing the Great Hall, when Hermione suddenly walked into the room and marched straight over to his bed. Before Ron had a chance to do anything, she had reached down and pulled the cloak off him.

________________________________________________________________

Hermione was furious with herself. She was such an idiot. Why else would it have taken her so long to remember the cloak? Merlin knew it had landed them in enough trouble in the past. Once she thought of it, of course it was obvious where Ron would be hiding – and how. Unfortunately, this realization hit her right in the middle of Charms, so she was forced to quash her impulse to run straight to the Gryffindor Tower. This delay did nothing to improve her mood. 

She didn’t know why she was so angry with Ron all of a sudden; after talking to Pansy, Hermione had actually felt nothing but an overpowering desire to help him. Even the loss of her own hopes in that quarter hadn’t lessened the urge. Hermione would be lying if she claimed her feelings towards Ron had always been platonic; she’d fancied him from the moment she’d set eyes on his stupid, smudged nose. But somehow reading Pansy’s journal hadn’t just opened her eyes to Malfoy’s feelings for Ron; it had also swept her up into the whole romance of it. Malfoy didn’t just fancy Ron; he was besotted with him. And there was just something so endearing about it. Yes, and a little absurd and cruelly comical too. The Death Eater-In-Waiting pining for a Muggle-loving Weasley. Merlin, how Draco must have hated that, must have tried to fight it with every atom inside him. And yet… 

Maybe it made her a fool - a silly romance-addled fool at that - but she felt unequal to resisting the pull of their story and felt compelled to help them get their happy ending. 

But as the day had worn on without either of them appearing, Hermione had started to feel irritated. Why were they making this so hard? All they had to do was tell each other how they felt (good grief, surely Malfoy’s recent actions had been pretty unequivocal!). If Ron hadn’t felt the same then he should have said something by now. Malfoy deserved that at least. And well, okay, maybe that - that right there. That was why she was so angry – this whole situation was actually making her feel sorry for bloody Draco Malfoy! And that really wouldn’t do at all. 

By the time school ended for the day, Hermione had pretty much had enough of the whole idiot-fuelled mess. Heads needed to be knocked together. And she knew just the head she was going to start with. Released from Charms, Hermione had set out for Gryffindor Tower at a run. 

Now, as she looked down at Ron where he lay cowering on his bed, Hermione felt all the anger melting inside her to be replaced by that same surge of protectiveness that she’d felt earlier. She couldn’t help it; the poor boy actually looked guilty of all things and that just wasn’t right. He hadn’t done anything wrong (well, apart from skipping class and Hermione knew given her own recent lapses that she couldn’t really throw stones there) so why should he be feeling guilty? This whole thing was such a bloody mess. Hermione took a deep breath. It was time to sort this out. 

“Oh, Ron,” she said with a sad shake of her head. Then, instead of the smack she’d felt like giving him only moments before, Hermione pulled him into a hug.

_______________________________________________________________

Ron felt very confused and a little uncomfortable (it was probably the whole squishy chest thing) but mostly relieved. He had no clue why, but it looked like Hermione wasn’t going to murder him after all. This was always a good thing as far as he was concerned. Explanations could wait. 

“You’ve been through such a terrible time lately,” Hermione said stroking his hair. “And I know you must be longing to just be left alone.” 

Well, yeah, Ron thought, that was the whole point of missing school and lying under an Invisibility cloak all afternoon (wisest witch my arse, he added bitchily). 

Just then, Hermione sat back and pushed him away and for a horrible moment Ron thought maybe he’d said that last bit out loud and the yelling and bruising were about to start. But instead of punching him, Hermione smiled and took hold of his hand. Ron let out a relieved breath (she had a mean right hook when pissed off). 

“Look,” Hermione said. “I know where there’s an empty classroom where no one will find you and I’ll make sure that Harry and Seamus stay away.” 

Oh, well, that was nice. (Okay, so a tiny part of his brain was wondering if this was where she lured him to an isolated part of the building and skinned him alive but he mostly managed to ignore it). 

A short while later, having suppressed his gloomier musings, Ron found himself being led to a lesser used part of the school. As the corridors became more shadowed and riddled with cobwebs, Ron found himself questioning the likelihood of his screams being heard from this far down (apparently he hadn’t managed to suppress _all_ his gloomier thoughts). 

The classroom that Hermione finally walked him into was indeed empty, and whilst the furniture and décor might not have been the most comfy – Ron really would have preferred to stay in bed – at least he’d probably be guaranteed some solitude here. 

“No one will bother you now, Ron,” Hermione assured him. “Take as long as you need. I promise I’ll keep any unwanted visitors away.” 

Just then, Ron’s stomach gurgled a loud, unhappy protest and he suddenly remembered that dinner would soon be served in the Great Hall (realising his inevitable absence was not a happy thought). 

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ron, you and your stomach! Don’t worry,” she went on. “I’ll get Dobby to bring you some dinner.” And with a last quick hug she left. 

Ron sat down in the nearest chair and propped his feet on a desk. 

Approximately three minutes later he was bored out of his skull and regretting his haste in agreeing to come here. 

Escaping notice was one thing, but surely there were more pleasant places to do it… like the kitchen. His stomach growled in agreement. It was still a little early for dinner but he’d had a trying day and felt justified in seeking a little comfort eating. Standing up, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Why had he let Hermione bring him here? Lack of food had clearly made him stupid. With a loud sigh he walked towards the door… which opened suddenly. 

Ron stopped and waited to see who it was, hoping it would be Dobby laden down with goodies. 

It wasn’t. 

Marching swiftly into the classroom, Draco Malfoy came to an almost comical stop when he saw Ron.

____________________________________________________________

After she left, Hermione went to the kitchen to speak to Dobby about taking dinner to Ron. The little House-elf didn’t seem surprised by her request which led Hermione to suspect it wasn’t the first time today that he’d fed Ron. She should have known; nothing got between Ron and food. Hoping that Pansy had managed to fulfil her side of their arrangement, Hermione charged Dobby with the task of taking enough food for two to the classroom where she’d left Ron. 

Leaving the little elf cheerfully loading a tray up with provisions, she headed back to the Gryffindor common room where she had some advice to impart to certain people regarding ill-advised evening rambles. Spotting Harry and Seamus looking shifty over by the fireplace, she walked over to them and wasted no time with niceties. Once they were cowering acceptably, she curled up in an armchair and decided to do a bit of quiet reading until dinner. Opening her book she carefully selected the next date.

 

_**September 1st** _

 

I can’t believe the summer is over and we’re already heading back to Hogwarts. I’m rather looking forward to second year - we’ll have a whole new bunch of little first years to pick on. What fun! 

I haven’t seen much of Draco this summer and I have to say I haven’t really missed him. Quite frankly I think I’ve earned a break! Hopefully by the time we get to school he’ll have recovered from his Weasley fixation and my ears will get to have a rest this year.

 

_**10pm, dorm room** _

 

Well, that will teach me to tempt fate! 

The train journey wasn’t too bad, mainly because Draco spent very little time in our carriage, so thankfully I didn’t have to listen to him prattle on. He apparently spent most of the journey walking up and down the train terrorising Gryffindors. Idiot, he’s got all year for that! 

Dinner on the other hand was a whole different story!! Dear sweet diary, I already sense this year is going to be an enormous trial.

{~~~~~~}

 

MERLIN’S BALLS!! I think I’m in some sort of time loop! It feels like last year’s Welcoming Feast all over again. Draco hasn’t shut up about Weasley since he sat down and once again he’s spent all of dinner straining to see what was going on at the Gryffindor table, while we’ve had to suffer through his non-stop commentary on all things Weasley! 

Two courses in and he finally managed to drag his eyes away briefly and looked across the table at me. 

“I saw him in the holidays, you know,” he said, looking far too happy about the fact. “Weasley,” Draco clarified (as if I needed it!). “He was in Flourish & Blotts at the same time as me and father. What are the chances of that?” 

I rolled my eyes but he didn’t even notice having already returned his gaze to the Gryffindor table. 

“A very high chance I would say, Draco,” I said scathingly (though it was probably lost on him). “After all, _everyone_ goes to Diagon Alley for their school supplies.” 

Draco didn’t even grace me with a glance. “Yes,” he said dismissively. “But not on the same day. And not the same shop. No, it was fate.” 

What?! 

“He’s grown over the summer. His hair is longer too. Just as red though.” 

I raised my eyes to the heavens. Draco had clearly set sail for Weasley Land again. 

“All his family was there. His mum’s fat. I might be able to use that later.” 

On and on and on… 

There was a brief respite while Draco gulped down pumpkin juice and I found myself idly wondering why Potter hadn’t been there too. I’d heard that he’d spent the last week of the summer with the Weasleys and surely it would have made sense for him to go to Diagon with them? 

“Funny Potter wasn’t with him,” I mused aloud. 

Draco looked up from his juice. “Oh, he was there,” he said casually. 

Well, that was a little odd, why hadn’t Draco mentioned that earlier? I would have thought that fact worthy of at least a mention. I mean, I can’t believe Draco had spent any time in Potter’s vicinity and not insulted him in some way. And we all know how much Draco likes to boast about his insulting prowess. 

“It only needed Granger to complete the set,” I said. 

“Yes, she was there too.” Draco confirmed with a nod. 

I looked up from my dinner at that. “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” I asked. 

“Why would I?” Draco replied with a shake of his head. 

I watched him turn back to his intense contemplation of the Gryffindor table and it suddenly occurred to me that there was a very good chance that I wasn’t destined to be the future Mrs. Draco Malfoy after all.

_________________________________________________________________

Hermione looked up from the book. _Oh_. Pansy had known as long ago as that. That was sort of sad - something suddenly caught her eye - and where the fuck did they think they were going? She jumped up and pulled Harry and Seamus back by their jumpers. Sneaky little gits.

________________________________________________________________ 

When Ron was little, probably about five or six, his dad had been sent to a Muggle shopping centre to investigate some irregular goings on in a tea shop there (something to do with an enchanted kettle if Ron remembered correctly). He had returned home with a variety of Muggle artefacts that his dad had felt it prudent to “confiscate for their own safety”. One of these artefacts was a rectangular plaque that Arthur had placed proudly on the wall in the kitchen. Written across it in cheery letters were the words: _Love many, trust few, always learn to paddle your own canoe_. 

Ron had never given much thought to those words, never really thought much about them at all. Until today. Today he felt for the first time he understood what that plaque was trying to tell him. And oh, how he wished he had heeded its warning (what a canoe was and exactly how you paddled it continued to elude him). 

He was in a locked classroom and he most definitely was not alone. Ron looked across the room to where an awkward looking Draco Malfoy was staring at the floor. Ron was going to kill Hermione if he ever got out of this. 

Ron watched Malfoy shift nervously from foot to foot and something fierce and aching suddenly bubbled up inside. If the ‘something’ had a name then it was probably _Enough_. And Ron wanted to scream it out loud because he was so done with this. Over the course of the last few days he’d felt increasingly like a discarded piece of chewing gum passed from mouth to mouth. Well, bugger that. Two - or three or four based on recent evidence - could play at that game. And he walked over to the other boy, took hold of two fist-fulls of Draco’s robe and pulled him close. Ron just had enough time to notice Draco going slightly cross eyed before he pressed their lips together.

Damn it, Ron was going to _make_ Draco admit he liked him if that’s what it took. He pressed harder against Draco’s mouth, seconds away from biting.

 _Enough_.


End file.
